


have yourself a smutty little christmas

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Gore, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: twenty four unrelated, smutty ficlets to pass the time until christmas





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I'm officially back from my writing break :)
> 
> Think of this as a sort of advent calender. One smutty ficlet every day until Christmas Eve. They won't be related, some will be set in the show universe, there will be AU scenarios, and they will vary in length from somewhere between 550-2000 words (I lost control with a few of them - this was meant to be a drabble series once upon a time).
> 
> Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, I think some daily smut for cold winter days is appreciated, right?

_Daryl, please._ Her fingers curl into the sheets beneath her, every muscle in her body coiled tight as she arches her hips up, pleading. Positively _begging_ at this point. But he shows no sign of wanting to speed this up.

 

Instead, he trails a line of damp, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her spine – from the base of her skull all the way down to her tailbone. Her skin – usually so pale but now flushed a deep red from her cheeks down to the soles of her feet – responds instantly, goosebumps breaking out, a shiver wrecking her already drained body.

 

She's soaked at this point, and she knows he can feel it against the thigh he has pressed between her legs, the round of her ass pressing right against his hardness, fitting snugly against her. But he makes no move to finally, _finally_ slip inside of her, and she wants to cry.

 

He seeks her lips for a kiss, the entire length of his body pressing her into the bed, and she can still taste herself when his tongue slips into her mouth. It's maddening, but the memory of him tasting her, licking and sucking and dipping into her, has her shivering all over. _Please,_ she whispers again, barely in control of her voice. Lips curl into a weak but smug smile against her own, and he shifts behind her.

 

For a blessed moment she thinks that this is it. She can feel him hard and smooth against her, rubbing up and down. But he doesn't move to push himself into her, and she groans into the pillow. His hands are curled around her hips, pushing her flat against the sheets. Her nipples drag against the warm fabric, still so sensitive from his caresses earlier, all tongue and teeth and calloused thumbs.

 

Whatever has gotten into him today, she is about to tear her own hair out. She'd been eager when he kissed her, peeling her clothes from her body and tangling their limbs in the sheets of their soft bed. But then he'd moved away from her exploring hands, had nipped and sucked and licked and kissed his way across the quivering planes of her body with more dedication than ever before. It's too much now, the teasing, and she raises her hips off the bed until the tip of him nudges her just right.

 

Craning her neck, Carol looks behind herself. Daryl is hovering above her, balancing his weight on his elbows and forearms, and she can see his resolve crumbling now, jaw tense and eyes sharp and he sucks air through his teeth.

 

_I need you,_ she rasps, making an extra effort to keep her voice low. That seems to be more than he can take, and he pushes his hips forward until he slides easily into her in a thrust so hard that she feels her body moving forwards. Grasping at the edge of the mattress for leverage, she gasps, the stretch of him filling her almost enough to send her over the edge – again.

 

_Fuck!_ Daryl grunts, fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. He wastes no time now, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back into her, and she can feel all of it, every inch of him as he picks up speed and force. Stifling her moans against the pillow, Carol sneaks her own hand beneath her body, skin damp with sweat.

 

She's so wet that her fingers slip a little aimlessly over her flesh, pressing too much and she feels herself clenching around Daryl. He groans in response, thrusting into her even faster. The sound of his hips and legs slamming against the back of her thighs fills the room, and Carol silently begs that none of the others decided this would be a good time to leave Aaron and Eric's dinner party because no way the walls are thick enough to muffle these sounds.

 

_Daryl, I'm-_ she pants, rubbing at herself in fast circles, eyes squeezed shut when she accidentally brushes against _him_ instead , slick and warm and disappearing inside of her. _God!_

 

She wants to see him when he comes, wants to kiss him and muffle her own scream against his chest, but that would mean having to stop and that's the last thing she can take right now. Not when the tension in her core is just about ready to snap, sparks of electricity running through her veins.

 

No, she can't stop now.


	2. two

The first time it happens, it's really the last thing they should be doing. She's dehydrated and exhausted, blood, sweat and fresh tears covering her.

 

All he wanted to do was bring her some clean water to wash up and a can of those peaches she enjoyed so much the other day - but then she breathes a hoarse _thank you_ into the semi darkness of her cell and aims to kiss his cheek, chapped but oh so warm lips grazing the corner of his mouth instead.

 

He wants to pull back, brush off her thank you. But she'd been gone, _dead_ , he thought that he couldn't keep her safe but now she is here. Right here and alive and his hands come up to her waist before he can stop himself. A small smile ghosts across her lips before she brushes them against his.

 

It's soft and slow, tentative because he doesn't want to hurt her. Gently, he peels her tattered clothes away and wipes off the grime and blood, feels her shiver in his arms. She's more eager, clutching at him, cupping his face in her palms and pulling him on top of her on the thin mattress. He falls easily into the cradle of her thighs and when he moves into her (so goddamn warm and tight and soft and _alive_ ) they both shudder and suck in a hiccuping breath.

 

He moves inside of her slower than he ever has before, gently shifting himself until she's panting into the crook of his neck. The swell of her breasts against his chest, her long, pale legs wrapped loosely around his hips, delicate fingers sifting through his hair. It's all too much and he comes before they even properly start.

 

But she leaves him no room for embarrassment, whispers his name into a soft kiss and curls herself around him. In his arms, she falls asleep, naked and warm, and he listens to the even rhythm of her breathing until sleep claims him too.

 

 

 

The second time it happens he's not even sure she ever wants to see him again. Not after he left her behind for his asshole brother. But here she is, smiling at him and telling him she's glad he came back and before he has a chance to try and stutter his way through an apology she is climbing onto his bed, thighs bracketing his hips and her mouth slanted over his.

 

It's more urgent, the taste of her intoxicating. He wants to make this good for her, at least give it a try. Make up for all he has done wrong.

 

For some reason, she can't let him. When he pulls down her shirt to cup the weight of her breast and drag his thumb over a stiff peak, she moans softly, then pulls away, drags her pants down hurriedly and when he tries to slip his hand down to her core she fumbles with his belt, blocking his way. Before he can do anything else, she has her hand curled around him and slides down until he bottoms outs - knocking the breath out of him. Moving her hips in fast motions, he's lost the moment she begins, clutching her to him.

 

She's so close to him, pressed flush against him with her legs in a tight lock, not an inch of space for him to navigate. The tight circles in which she grinds over him are too much, way too much, and he comes with a groan he muffles against her collarbone, hands splayed over her back. The soothing kisses she ghost over his neck are almost enough to distract him from the distance he still feels (even now that he's growing soft deep inside of her).

 

 

 

The third time it happens, he barely remembers it. Numb with pain, he's scrubbing away blood and sweat and dirt in the cold washroom. His palms are calloused from digging his brother's grave, and tear trails have dried on his face, the skin raw and tense.

 

When the door opens (hinges whining, metal scratching against old tiles) he knows it's her. Doesn't flinch when she steps up behind him and curls her arms around him. _I'm sorry,_ she whispers between his shoulder blades, right next to the cross of a scar. He doesn't have the strength or will left in him to cover himself up or hide the nasty remnants of his childhood. Carol doesn't dwell on them, presses a kiss to his shoulder and that's when the tears fall freely.

 

She soothes him through his sobs, tugs gently on his arm until he turns around and falls into her willing embrace. Weak and defeated, he cries until he can't anymore, lets her whisper small comforts into his ear.

 

Somehow, he ends up on one of the cold benches with her in his lap, and by the time the last tear falls he is seeking her lips for a desperate kiss, deep and languid and almost angry. She takes it all and gives back plenty, rocking against him until he's hard and pressed against her belly. It's not how he wants this to be, but she is too quick and he's too exhausted, and when she takes him inside of her it's all he can do not to cry all over again from how right it feels.

 

His hips snap up into hers this time, taking, claiming, watching as her back arches and her lips part on a gasp, pink and swollen from their kisses and the sight of her is mesmerizing. With a force he regrets after, he sucks at the pale, exposed skin of her collarbones, draws it between his lips until her freckles bruise. It's rougher than she deserves and a small voice tells him to slow down, to stop _fucking_ her and make love to her instead (because damn it if he's not hopelessly in love with her).

 

But she's clenching around him, grinding her hips not for his pleasure but for her own now, seeking something just out of reach.

 

He comes before she gets there, hastily pulling out of her (just now having the clarity of mind to realize he never asked her if she can still get pregnant – and how ridiculous is it that he remembers that _now_?) and shoots all over her stomach with a shout he muffles against her throat. This time, he gives her no chance to pull away, is quick to shove his hand between them and rub furiously at her, no finesse to it at all. It's a sticky mess but she fucking _mewls_ at his touch, and then she goes rigid in his lap, his name tearing from her parted lips.

 

It's the best thing he's ever seen in his godforsaken, sorry excuse of a life.

 

 

 

The fourth time it happens, it's different.

 

The people from Woodsbury are settled in, and he's fucking exhausted. Hasn't slept in forever and feels suffocated by all them people suddenly crowding the walls of the prison like insects.

 

He'd volunteered to take watch, and he is leaning against the railing of the watch tower, staring at the small gathering of walkers by the fence in the moonlight when he hears someone on the stairs.

 

It's her, has to be.

 

And this time, she doesn't rush to him. Smiles softly and sets down a folded blanket with a blush on her cheeks. Doesn't stop him when he leans in for a softer kiss, when he peels her clothes away from the planes of her body (pale and freckled and glowing in the moonlight, so fucking beautiful). Instead, she keens when he kisses her all over, tastes the sweat off her skin, sucks and nibbles and ghosts his hands over her until he has memorized every rise and fall.

 

Her own hands are more curious, as well. Not tugging hastily to get the job done. She maps him out, the soft and hard planes of flesh and muscle, smiling when he shudders. Having her hands on him is the best thing, the first time in his life that someone's touch has him craving for more. And the way she smiles when he reacts (when he groans and bucks into her and holds her tight), well that's something that makes his chest swell with pride.

 

Even when she runs her hands down his bare back it's gentle and sweet and makes them both sigh into a tender kiss. And when he finally sinks into her, she's already fallen apart beneath him (kissing her where she'd been wet and soft and warm, his hands holding her thighs and the quivering plane of her stomach, drinking her up) and he doesn't feel guilt. It doesn't feel rushed or angry. They move together for as long as he can hold out, kissing her long and deep.

 

She locks him in with her legs around his hips, whispers into his ear to let go, that it's all right.

 

It feels impossible but the draws him deeper inside, and he comes apart then, clutching her to him with his hands under her shoulders and his hips digging into hers.

 

After, she curls into his side, damp curls of silver hair sparkling in the moonlight. The smile she gives him, he realizes, is all he truly needed.


	3. three

 

He's so deep inside her that he can't fucking tell anymore where he ends and she begins, pulling out just far enough to roughly shove himself back inside, each thrust causing her breath to hitch and her fingers to dig deeper into his shoulders.

 

The dress messily bunched around her waist presses into his abdomen, but when he looks down it's too dark to make out much. It's a shame, he thinks, imagining the sight of him sliding into her, pale legs locked around his hips and black underwear shoved aside in a haste.

 

He is so fucking close. White heat coils at the base of his spine, threatening to snap each time she sucks him back inside, warm and wet and tight, all made perfect by the soft sounds she muffles damply against his neck.

 

Usually, he'd tell himself that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't know her and will likely never see her again. So if he comes now and leaves this place sated for one brief moment, what does it really matter?

 

Somehow, it matters tonight, though. Because she is different. He  _feels_  different. Even fucking her against her hallway wall it feels like something else entirely. Hell, he doesn't even know if he managed to shut the front door a few feet to his left properly in their hurry, her hands already pushing his unbuckled pants over his hips before they'd stepped inside.

 

_Fuck_ , he grunts when she tightens around him, and his hands dig into the soft, pale flesh of her thighs to hitch her higher up against him. He looks at her with wonder, the deep flush on her cheeks and her kiss-swollen lips parted on a sigh, chest heaving against his with each ragged breath. Her eyes had been blue, he remembers from before, longing to see them now.

 

Even though he doesn't know why, she's coming apart against him, muscles fluttering around him and her heels digging painfully into the small of his back, urging him on.

 

He won't last much longer, but judging by the way she (he thinks her name is Carol but he doesn't know for sure) tilts her hips to welcome him, grinds her pelvis against his and draws her bottom lip between her teeth - she is just as close.

 

_Are ya-_  he starts asking, voice no more than a hoarse grunt, but she interrupts him, nods feverishly and buries her head against his shoulder, sweaty forehead pressed against the leather of his vest.

 

_Yes._ Curls of silver hair tickle his neck and it's more than he can take.

 

_God - please. Yes!_ She moans when he gathers the last of his strength and pushes into her even harder, one hand hitting the wall behind her for leverage. And then it's all over as quickly as it started and it nearly knocks him off his feet.

 

She gasps and clings to him as her body goes rigid, back arching, squeezing him so hard that he sees stars in the darkness of her hallway. He pounds into her a few more times, spilling inside her with a grunt, lips sucking at the tender skin of her throat. Leaving a bruise for sure.

 

Her breathing calms then as she rests her head against his shoulder, the iron grip of her thighs easing. Every now and then her muscles flutter around him, and he's throbbing in the aftermath, sucking air into his unwilling lungs.

 

_Y'all right?_ he whispers, too exhausted to speak. All she does is hum in affirmation, and a shudder runs down his spine when she reaches up to sift her fingers through his hair.

 

Yeah. This is different, and he's screwed. Because he doesn't want to pull out just yet or walk home alone in the mild summer night, or give up the feeling of her gathered in his arms, lips feathering a kiss against his thrumming pulse point.

 

Her next words, cautious and breathless, are his salvation.  _Will you stay tonight?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the format isn't all messed up. I had to post this from my phone because I'm visiting my parents this weekend.
> 
> I'm super happy you're enjoying this so far :)


	4. four

A cloud of mist forms in front of her mouth as she climbs the steps of the RV, gloved hands balancing a tray. She kicks the door shut behind herself, fresh snow melting on the soles of her boots. _Brought you dinner,_ she announces, eyes flickering down to the bowl of steaming soup, a piece of dark bread, a mug of hot tea and a meager amount of dried fruit.

 

The inside is dimply lit by two oil lamps, but her eyes have adjusted to the darkness outside well enough for her to clearly see Daryl sitting at the table, wiping one of his bolts with a red cloth. He looks up briefly, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that has her stomach fluttering unannounced. _Shouldn't be out here in the cold,_ he scolds.

 

Carol raises her eyebrows at that, setting the tray down on the table as he shoves the bolts aside to make room. _Neither should you._ He clearly avoids her gaze and she sighs in defeat. _I mean it._ Her voice softens, and the effect that has on him is instant. _I wish you'd come inside,_ she says quietly, lips forming a weak smile. Even after everyone else moved into the main house, Daryl decided to stay behind. While the rest of them is huddled up behind the thicker walls with a warm hearth and small comforts, he is enduring the dead of winter out here in the dark, alone.

 

He doesn't reply (ignoring her pleads once again), and instead fidgets nervously with a few crumbs of dry bread. _How's Sophia?_

 

Whatever frustration she might harbor for him and his stubbornness, it melts away at the mention of her little girl. Riddled by a nasty cold, she'd been curled up in bed for days, coughing the life out of herself. Earlier today, Daryl had gone out, all alone in the cold, to find more medication. It had taken him all day, but he returned successfully, only increasing the debt she owes him.

 

_Better,_ she replies with a grateful smile. _Thank you again._ Even in the dim light she can see his cheeks turning a few shades darker, and it's more endearing than she's willing to admit. _Really. You've done so much for us, Daryl._ Her voice has gone frail, memories of the day he carried her little girl back to the farm _alive_ still branded in her mind.

 

Dismissively, Daryl shakes his head, but she won't have any of that again. Instead, she slowly leans down, mindful not to scare him. Still, he tenses when she presses her lips to his cold cheek. He swallows, and from her periphery she can see his hands curling into fists in his lap. Intrigued, she lingers, allowing her damp breath to warm his skin.

 

When he turns his head just slightly, the wonder and fear in his eyes nearly knock the air out of her lungs.

 

Without giving herself time to over think this, she breaches the miniscule distance and presses her lips to his (like she has wanted to do a hundred times before).

 

It's chaste and messy and silly for a few moments, his breath hitching and lips sliding a little helplessly against hers. But he doesn't pull away and that alone lights a fire in her veins that she struggles to contain. When he finally gets his bearings, the shift is instant. There's purpose behind his kiss now, as shy as it still is. His hands find her waist, hovering there in a silent question.

 

All the answer she gives him is to tug off her gloves and rest her chilly hands against his neck, eliciting a groan that gives her the chance to slip her tongue into his mouth. He replies in kind, parting his lips eagerly and and shifting around until he pulls her down onto his lap.

 

It's cramped and cold and they're wearing too many clothes, but she doesn't give a damn right now. Not when she can feel him hard against her thigh, not when even the slightest tilt of her hips has him trembling in her arms. Seeking friction, she grinds down in an experimental circle, pretty much at loss herself here. It's been so long...

 

She seems to have done something right because sparks shoot up her spine and Daryl is suddenly grabbing her hips and pulling her back down, keeping her flush against him.

 

_Carol-_ he chokes, tearing his lips from hers. His eyes are dark, still flickering away from hers, down between them.

 

Her stiff fingers brush some of his hair off his forehead, the uncertainty in his gaze instantly easing. _It's okay,_ she whispers, cupping his cheek for a brief moment before dropping that hand between them, over the thick leather of his vest until she reaches his belt. Daryl's eyes widen a little when she unbuckles it swiftly, not pausing to reach inside and curl her hand around him. He's hard and warm and smooth in the palm of her hand, and it's like she lit a fire in him that he can no longer contain.

 

His hands are suddenly _everywhere_ , tugging down the zipper of her thick coat to push it open, untangling her scarf from around her neck and pulling it hastily over her head. The newly exposed skin – pebbled with goosebumps – seems to lure him in and he plants open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and throat, two warm hands cupping the weight of her breasts through the wool of her sweater.

 

Momentarily distracted, Carol finds her hand stuttering as she strokes him, squeezing a little too tight. She gasps but before she can correct her mistake he bucks up into her, his groan vibrating against her thrumming pulse point. He _liked_ it.

 

_Carol!_ he rasps when she does it again, hips raising off the bench in hiccuping motions. _Ain't gonna-_

 

He's trembling all over and she feels pride swelling inside of her, confidence mingling with it. He's worried, though, always walking on the edge of embarrassment and shame, and she doesn't want him to feel that way now. She leans down to bury her face in the crook of his neck instead, sucking at the skin there until he thrusts into her hand more firmly.

 

Slowly, her free hand descends from where she'd combed her fingers through his hair down to one of his own, guiding it lower until she sneaks them both under the hem of her sweater and tank top underneath. Increasing the rhythm of her hand, thumb trailing over the head of him, she guides him to her breast.

 

It doesn't take much more prompting from her for him to tug down the cup of her bra and drag his thumb over a stiff peak, and she sighs contently as warmth pools in the pit of her stomach. Abandoning his hand, she trails her own down his stomach and under the worn fabric of his shirt, feeling his muscles quiver when she scrapes her nails down his abdomen.

 

He hisses a colorful curse that has her smiling, and she knows this is about to end. It's okay, she thinks, not bothered in this moment to seek her own release. They'll have time for that later.

 

She wants more. Hell, she's terrified by _how much_ she wants. Imagines him lowering her to the bed in the corner and undressing her, kissing her softly the way she always dreamed of. But now is not the right time, no matter how much she craves. It's too cold, and neither of them is ready to take that step. That doesn't stop her from imagining it though, the stretch and weight of him inside of her, the tension of her release as it snaps, and she can't bite back the moan at the thought.

 

The sound of that, small and muffled, seems to send Daryl over the edge. He comes all over her hand with a few more shallow thrusts and a deep groan that sends shivers down her spine, breathing raggedly against her collarbone. Slowly, she soothes him through it, slows down her strokes until she finally pulls her hand away.

 

His heart drums violently against his ribcage and she can feel each beat against her body, her eyes fluttering shut as she bathes in the moment.

 

The food is turning cold and she's freezing, the stickiness of his release growing uncomfortable on her skin, but she's content to stay here for a while longer. Knows the bubble will burst and Daryl will question all of his, skittish and angry at the same time – even if right now he's pressing a kiss to her neck and smoothing his hand up and down her spine.

 

Until it all comes crushing down and they'll have to face the _after_ , she's going to cherish this. Every small, frail flutter of happiness and hope it conjures.


	5. five

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 7:02am

You forgot to take the trash out.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 7:09am

Sorry. Was running late.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:32am

You mad at me?

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:41am

It's fine. I took it out.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:42am

Sorry.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:49am

It's ok.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:49am

Love you

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 8:51am

Love you too

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 9:31am

Heading into town. Casserole or pizza for dinner?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 9:32am

Pizza

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 9:32am

Get that peanut butter ice cream. Soph said she wanted to try it.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 9:36am

Ok

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 1:57pm

_Sent you a picture_

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:43pm

JESUS CAROL!

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:43pm

ANYONE COULD HAVE SEEN THAT!!!

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:45pm

Did you leave your phone laying around?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:45pm

Was working on the Chevy. Axel's sick.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:46pm

Well, nobody saw. Do you like it?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:46pm

Not doing this Carol.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:47pm

It's a simple question.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:48pm

You damn well know I like your boobs.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:49pm

I meant the bra, you pervert!

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:50pm

Oh sorry. That new?

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:51pm

Yes. Bought it earlier. Guess it's not that great.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:51pm

It is. Pretty. Looks nice.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:56pm

You really thought I was sending you boob pics?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:56pm

Sorry.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:57pm

Do you want me to?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:57pm

Stop.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:58pm

_Sent you a picture._

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:58pm

CAROL!

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 2:59pm

Like them better now without the bra?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:00pm

Not doing this.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:01pm

But I'm home alone. Lori's taking Sophia and Carl to the mall. I'm bored.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:01pm

Well, I'm working.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:01pm

Right now?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:02pm

No.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:02pm

See? You can entertain me. Or do I need to do that... all by myself?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:02pm

Jesus

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:04pm

_Sent you a picture._

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:04pm

Fuck. Stop.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:05pm

Nope. Feels good.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:06pm

Feels better when you do it.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:06pm

I miss you.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:07pm

Gonna turn my phone off if you don't stop.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:09pm

_Sent you a picture._

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:09pm

Where did you get THAT?

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:12pm

Carol?

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:13pm

Sorry, was distracted.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:13pm

Ordered it last week. Maybe we can try it together tonight.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:14pm

_Sent you a voice message._

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:15pm

Fuck. You really doing this?

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:17pm

Hmm.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:18pm

_Sent you a voice message._

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:18pm

_Sent you a picture._

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:19pm

Shit, you close?

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:20pm

Yeah

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:21pm

Call me.

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:21pm

Can't.

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:22pm

Please

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:23pm

_Sent you a picture._

 

**Carol Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:23pm

Need to hear your voice

 

**Daryl Dixon**

Nov 25, 2017 3:24pm

Fuck.

 

CALLING CAROL DIXON...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little different and less smutty, but I hope it was still enjoyable :)


	6. six

Her skin glows in the flickering light of the fire, and the way she's leaning forward he can see the hollow of her collarbone peaking out from beneath her shirt. He shifts on the chair, uncomfortable, clutching the glass of wine to his chest. And then she does it again. Casting him that _look_ across the fire.

 

Blue eyes dark in the lack of light, sparkling as the flames dance in them. Full of mischief. Pink lips parted ever so slightly, the corners curling up into the slightest of smiles. Nobody else notices, too caught up in their conversations or busy holding sticks with stale marshmallows over the flames, but he damn well noticed about twenty minutes ago.

 

The way she wiped the sweat off her neck (how he imagined licking it off, feeling her pulse thrumming in response). The sound she made when she popped a marshmallow into her mouth (the same noise she'd made the night before, nipping at his shoulder to stifle it). The way her tongue peeked out of her mouth to lick the rest of the sticky white mess off her fingertips (and damn if his thoughts didn't wander off then, to when she'd had her lips curled around him, tongue teasing him until he trembled with his release). He was lost right then and there, his fucking dick straining against his jeans to the point of pain.

 

There is only so much he can take, awkwardly shifting in his chair (grateful for the dim light that's keeping his situation a secret). Glenn is talking to him, he notices vaguely, seeing him rocking his son on his lap from his periphery. But whatever he's saying is just floating through his brain unnoticed when Carol raises from the log she'd been sitting on, cheeks flushed, smoothing her palms over her shirt (just slightly grazing the underside of her breasts, and _fuck_ if he doesn't want to touch them right now, cup the weight of them in his palms and suck and nibble until she makes those needy little whimpers).

 

_I'm going to get some more food,_ she announces to the rest of the group, pointing at the mostly empty table that once boasted salads and meats and fruit, along with more than a handful of bags of marshmallows in all sorts of nasty colors. _Daryl?_ He nearly jolts out of his chair at the sound of his name on her lips, and she _knows_ , grinning at him across the fire. _Can you give me a hand?_

 

His voice gets stuck in his throat for a few seconds, but then he nods, hoping, begging, that it's more than his hand she's asking for. _Sure,_ he mutters, gulping down the rest of his wine. He's quick to stand up and turn away from the others, making wide steps back towards the house. Carol isn't far behind, the sound of her shoes against the porch steps winding him up like a clock.

 

Neither of them wastes a second once the door falls shut behind them. Daryl grunts the second her hands curl around his neck and her lips slant against his (tasting of sugar and whine and smoke) and he has her pressed against the closed door in an instant. Her teeth nip impatiently at his lower lip and he parts them without resistance, his hands curled around her waist, thumbs digging into her stomach as he pulls her hips flush against his.

 

_Fuck,_ he murmurs into the kiss just as Carol slips her tongue into his mouth, the taste of her intoxicating. She's tilting her hips against his straining erection on her own accord now, rising on her tip toes to reach him better.

 

But then she parts the kiss, lips swollen and cheeks a burning red, and he can't remember ever having seen her like this. _Hurry,_ she rasps, and then she's reaching down to pop open the button of her jeans and turns in his arms. Chest flush against the front door and her ass pressing against him. _God, I want you,_ she mewls, and Daryl is convinced this must be a dream. But it's all too real, the sound of her zipper dragging down, his own blood rushing in his ears.

 

He tucks his fingers through her belt loops and pulls, the fabric easily sliding down her hips, and he's taking her underwear right along until they pool around her ankles. Although restricted, Carol takes a step to spread her legs as far as she can. But he's quicker then her, already slipping his hand down to cup her center, warm and smooth and soaking his hand.

 

Jesus Christ. His free hand finds her hip, bends her over enough to give him more room. There's no great ceremony when he thrusts two of his fingers into her, digging the heel of his hand against the front of her until she's grinding against it, pushing herself into his touch.

 

_Daryl, please,_ she whimpers, a hoarse sound that's amplified in the silence of the dark hallway. He pulls his hand away from her with an obscenely wet sound, unbuckles his belt so swiftly that the metal clings noisily. Shoving his pants over his ass with one hand, he uses the other to guide himself to her, pushing in without any more fanfare. She's so fucking wet that he just glides right in until his hips are flush with her ass, and she's _so_ tight like this that he has to squeeze his eyes shut (stars shine in the darkness in the same constellation as the freckles on her chest).

 

The strained grunt that escapes him sounds similar to her name, and she responds in kind, moaning his name quietly into the dark. As deep as he is inside her, she's not close enough, and so he curls his arms around her and pins her up against his chest before he pulls out again. She yelps when he thrusts back into her, and he maintains the rough rhythm, pounding into her and finding no other purchase than her trembling body.

 

He's _so fucking close_ , was halfway there already before she even lured him inside. Judging by the way Carol's hand is slipping down to rub at herself, the quivering of her muscles around him and the fucking sounds she's making (wet, whimpering, _aching_ ) she's not too far from falling off the edge either. That's all the more reason not to disappoint her. He could come right now, burying himself deep inside her and it would be over. Could easily get her off after. But neither option feels right, not when she's curled around him so perfectly, sucking him back inside whenever he pulls back

 

_Carol, fuck,_ he groans, thrusting even harder, wondering how on Earth she's not hurting but actually _pleading_ for more. _Gonna-_

 

_Wait!_ she gasps, her free hand moving from being pressed against the door to curl around his neck, nails scraping against the stubble of his beard. _I'm almost-_

 

He can't. He can't hold out. _Shit!_ he nearly shouts, pulling out of her in a quick move. The loss of her is instant and he trembles from the tension left unreleased. Carol seems just as disappointed, mewling as she tilts her hips back, her ass pressing right against him (it would be so easy to slip the head of him back down and inside her, so easy).

 

Before that idea becomes too tempting, or before he finishes all over her back just thinking about it, he quickly drops to his knees, curling one hand around her thigh to keep her steady and splaying the other over her ass. A question starts tumbling off Carol's lips but it ends on a moan when he buries his head between her thighs, the angle a bit awkward but he makes do. Licks her up and sucks until her legs are quivering and she's uselessly grasping for leverage against the smooth door.

 

She's close, so close (he knows the signs, the hitch in her breath and the way she's fumbling, knows her face is flushed red as a cherry and her eyes closed even though he can't see).

 

He wants to thrust his tongue into her and watch her soar, but there's something he wants more and that is to feel her clamping down around him, and so he pulls away once more, earning himself a desperate cry (and he's too close himself to feel smug about it now). But he's back inside of her within a heartbeat, her hips in his hands and his own snapping into hers. It doesn't even take a handful of thrusts before she's going rigid in his arms, stifling what he guesses must be a fucking _scream_ against the back of her hand - and that's just too much. He muffles his own cry in the crook of her neck, thrusting up into her one, two, three more times until he can't anymore and stills, grinding deep into her and keeping himself there as he spills into her.

 

They breathe raggedly for a little while, and when he mouths kisses down the length of her throat it's more tender than anything that has taken place since they stumbled through the door. Easing the grasp of his hands on her hips, he slips one around to hold her flush against him. A soft laughter trembles through her body, and he can feel it all the way from his head to his toes and where he's still buried inside her.

 

_They'll know,_ she chuckles with just the barest hint of embarrassment, turning to seek his lips for a gentler kiss that he responds to eagerly.

 

_We ain't gotta go back,_ he breathes against her lips, nudging his nose against hers and drawing circles on her stomach with the pad of his thumb. _Nobody's gonna send a search party._ She laughs at that, tracing her tongue along his chapped and swollen bottom lip. _Let's eat all 'em marshmallows and drink the wine._

 

It's a stupid suggestion but she laughs anyway, a light sound that he considers his greatest achievement. A blush tints his cheeks, even after all this time, and he moves away to nip at her earlobe. _Just us?_ she asks with a raspy whisper, her hand finding his forearm and holding on to him. _Alone?_ His lips find the spot behind her ear, silver curls tickling his nose, and he sucks just enough to feel her clenching around with the aftershocks of all they've done. _Upstairs?_

 

_Hmm,_ he hums, soothing the tender skin with his tongue, weakly bucking his hips against hers. A surprised sound passes her lips, caught somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and she leans her head back to rest against his shoulder.

 

_Sounds perfect,_ she whispers, eyes closed, her free hand sifting through his hair (maybe she can feel the sparks that her touch sends down the length of his spine, he wonders). _But we shouldn't._ She's being reasonable and responsible and he knows it, but damn if he doesn't want to take her upstairs and forget all about the damn bonfire.

 

_I know,_ he sighs, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her lips. A warm hand finds his cheek before he can pull away, two darkened eyes looking up at him with the same mischief he has seen before. Then, just barely, her lips turn into a familiar smirk.

 

_I didn't say no._


	7. seven

She listens to the howling of the wind and the drumming of the rain against the roof, taking deep, calm breaths. Daryl is asleep by her side, flat on his stomach, his head buried in the crook of her neck. Gently, she trails her fingers back and forth across his shoulder, mindful of the new bandages she put on fresh, angry, weeping lashes between his shoulder blades.

 

He must be in so much pain. The thought alone has her heart clenching and she can barely hold back her tears. When he'd climbed through her window earlier with red eyes and quivering lips, peeling away his blood-soaked shirt – she can't think about it, not now.

 

A roar of thunder tears through the night and Daryl stirs awake, a low grunt muffled by her own skin.

 

_It's okay,_ she whispers, smoothing her fingers through his still damp hair. Slowly, he lifts his head, the room too dark to make out more than the silhouette of him. Still, she feels exposed as he looks at her, _seeing_ her.

 

_Can't sleep?_ he asks, voice thick with fatigue and the pain he is biting back. All she can do is shake her head against her pillow, her roaming fingers finally resting against the side of his neck. The steady rhythm of his pulse is soothing. They are so close that she can almost hear the beating of his heart, and she fails to hold in a shiver when his warm breath dampens her lips. They part against her better judgment, and she knows she's fighting a losing battle. _Carol-_ he whispers, almost a warning, but she's leaning up before he can say more, her lips pressing against his.

 

It's wrong and they both know it. In the end, it will only hurt them more. Still, Daryl responds instantly, opening up to her as she traces her tongue across the seam of his lips, his hand finding purchase in the dip of her waist.

 

It's a natural progression when he moves on top of her, her bare legs opening to welcome him into the cradle of her thighs – as if they've done this a million times before. She wishes that they had, that she'd shared all of this with him more than just the one time weeks ago. The memory of it is still sharp.

 

Now, the warmth of him pressing her gently into the mattress is more than just a memory. The kiss is languid, slow, and her hands roam down his chest to hold on to his waist.

 

She sighs when he parts the kiss, his lips following the line of her jaw and down her throat. His hips grind down against hers just barely, like he is holding back. She feels the same fight in her, one she is losing as much as he is.

 

_I can't,_ he rasps as his splayed hand moves up the inside of her thigh until the tips of his fingers ghost over her damp underwear beneath her too big sleep shirt. Carol barely hears the words where he speaks them into her neck, lips sucking at the skin there ever so softly. _I can't._

 

Nodding weakly, Carol slips her hand into his boxers, arching her back when she curls her hand around him, hard and warm. The way his hips stutter makes her chest feel fuzzy.

 

_We shouldn't,_ he tries again, rubbing maddeningly slow circles against her through the cotton of her underwear. He's right, of course he is. In the morning, he'll go back to school with pain throbbing in his back, and she'll go back to Ed, let him drag her around the hallways like a trophy. She'll hide the bruises he left on her wrists with bracelets and long sleeves, and Daryl will hide his own by simple disappearing in the crowd.

 

_I know,_ she whispers sadly, pushing down his boxers until he is free. He swallows loudly against her ear, hiding his face. She does the same, turns her head away from him when she repeats the words. _I know._

 

His fingers pull her underwear to the side, and then he's right there, pushing against her. Finally surrendering, they move at the same time, her hips coming up when his own sink down, and he slides into her in one smooth stroke that knocks the air from their lungs. _Daryl,_ she whimpers, hands clinging to his upper arms now. His forehead is pressed to her collarbone, breath ragged and uneven.

 

He is gentle with her, careful. Moves so slowly that her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. Whispers kisses along her throat, hand ghosting across her still clothed breasts and ribcage, over the plane of her stomach (oblivious to the secret she keeps from him, from everyone), and down to where he moves inside of her. Tears dwell in her eyes when he finally lifts his head to face her, and she knows he can see them glistening in the dark.

 

_I'm sorry,_ she chokes, closing her eyes.

 

Warm lips catch the tears that trail down her cheek, and his kiss tastes bittersweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one might raise some questions - it is, in fact, taken from about 5000 notes I've taken for a possible multi-chapter fic. It'll be a while before I start working on that, though.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it despite the slight dose of angst :)


	8. eight

It could be perfect. The windows and door of the log cabin sealed shut, the fire crackling in the brick fire place. It fills the air with the scent of charred wood and smoke, and the candles scattered across the room smell of vanilla and cinnamon. It reminds her of the days before Christmas when she was a little girl, standing in her grandmother's kitchen, watching the snow fall outside and licking cookie dough off her fingertips.

 

The world outside has ceased to exist, the cold winds and falling snow long forgotten – and so is time. Here she can forget that tomorrow morning, they'll have to make their way back to Alexandria without the supplies they'd set out to scavenge. It's just the two of them now.

 

Yes. It _could_ be perfect.

 

Only she doesn't have the slightest clue what he's doing. And if his fingers weren't knuckle-deep inside her (slow, dragging along her walls) and his other hand caressing her breasts, she would have said something by now. But at this point, the only sound coming out of her mouth is some strangled version of his name.

 

And that's where the problem lies.

 

That's usually all she can draw from Daryl in these moments. A gasp of her name, a low and gravelly curse, deep groans.

 

Not this. Not all this... _talking_.

 

(he hardly ever talks this much, even when they have their clothes on)

 

It started innocently enough, a few whispered endearments, how beautiful she looks, how soft she feels, how much he loves her. She'd relished in all that, had melted away under his touch and felt the truth and love behind them.

 

As the light of the fire illuminated her skin and the soft blankets beneath her tickled her spine, she really had felt beautiful and loved and soft.

 

And she still does, sill feels like her bones have melted, sparks fizzling in her veins like a million little fireworks. But she is so close to breaking out in laughter from the ridiculousness of this - her body trembling from the restraint as much as pleasure when Daryl grinds the heel of his hand against her in a dizzying circle.

 

_Wanna touch y'all the time,_ he mouths against the side of her breast, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, closer and closer to the stiff peak. _Wanna touch ya everywhere._

 

(it's not like she disagrees with what he's saying, but to hear the words slip from his lips makes her feel out of place and him like a stranger)

 

She can feel him hard against her hipbone, teasing, grinding against her ever so slightly. Holding back.

 

_Make me so fucking hard._

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, one hand curling into the blanket beneath her until her knuckles turn white. The other is clutching his hair, nails scraping lightly across his scalp.

 

He groans in response, the sound muffled against the underside of her breast. It's the most genuine sound he's made in the last fifteen minutes. It's not him, none of it, but she's _so_ close, back arching off the floor already, the heat that's like licking flames in her abdomen unbearable.

 

_Feel so tight 'round me._ Okay. No way.

 

_Daryl,_ she pants, leaning up to support her weight on her elbows. He stops moving his fingers inside of her instantly and she mourns the loss of the friction, fights to ignore the delicious stretch she still feels. _What are you doing?_

 

If her own ragged breathing wasn't enough to somber her, then the sudden expression of utter shame on Daryl's face is. His cheeks burn up and his eyes fall down to the ground, avoiding her. She knows the way he's shrinking himself, and instantly regrets speaking up. He knows exactly what she meant.

 

_Just thought...,_ he begins to mumble, and suddenly his fingers inside her feel awkward and out of place. He seems to think the same thing (or worse: he feels unwanted), pulling his hand away. The loss is instant but she ignores it, instead grabbing for his arms before he can pull away entirely.

 

_Hey,_ she says softly, urging him to look up at her with a gentle pressure from her fingertips. _Tell me._

 

He swallows deftly, eyes still flickering between her and the ground, and he's shifted away enough so that's he's not laying half on top of her but rather on his side. Less and less of their skin touching. Instantly, the flames aren't enough to warm her anymore. _Thought ya wanted me ta talk more,_ he stutters quietly, fidgeting with a loose seam on the blanket.

 

Carol struggles to remember a single time she asked him to be more vocal. There's nothing at all about their relationship she wants to change, and the last thing on her mind is to force Daryl into doing something he's clearly uncomfortable with. The process of reaching a stage where they can be intimate and vulnerable in front of the other was laborious enough. _Why?_ she asks, smoothing her hand up and down his arm to prove that she's not making fun of him, that she doesn't want him to pull away.

 

(it's the last thing she wants on this earth)

 

Daryl doesn't answer straight away, looking positively wretched now. _Ya know...,_ he starts, pausing for a while. _Y'always sayin'... stuff._

 

She chews on his words for a few long moments, a little lost before it begins to dawn on her what he means. The flirting. The teasing. The jokes. They come more easily to her and he never responds with more than a blush and a familiar _stop_ , but she's never even tried to talk to him like that when they're doing _this_ , and her heart swell a little with affection.

 

_To get a rise out of you,_ she explains, instantly regretting her choice of words. But they do conjure the barest hint of a smile onto Daryl’s face and they both look down to the still very evident proof that she got a rise out of him all right. _Well, you know...,_ she chuckles, her own cheeks flushed now. Embarrassed and a little guilty, she nuzzles her face into the cook of his neck, curling her arm around his back.

 

_I suck at this, right?_ Daryl sighs, one hand coming up to run the pad of his finger down the ridges of her spine.

 

The way she's facing now, the flames of the fire warm her cheeks, and she burrows into Daryl for more warmth and comfort, her breasts flush against his chest, pressing into him. _There's room for improvement,_ she murmurs into his neck with a slight curl of her lips that he seems to miss because his next words are too somber.

 

_Killed the mood._

 

She doesn't know why he'd feel that. Not when his hardness is still there, trapped between their bellies, and when her own heart beats a ragged rhythm.

 

_Oh no,_ she breathes, feeling him shiver. Without hesitation but still slow, she curls her legs over his hip, allows him to slide against her wetness, and his hands clutch her to him now. _I..._ She presses an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse point. _Need to feel you._ Her hand sneaks down between them, curls around the base of him to give him one tortuously slow stroke. His hips buck and he muffles a desperate sound against the silver curls of her hair, calloused fingers digging into her hips. _All of you._ Her thumb trails over the head, gathering moisture there, and then leading him right where he needs to be. _Right here._

 

One tilt of her hips and she takes him inside of her, just a bare inch that stretches and fills her. _Fuck,_ he groans, fumbling until his hand finds the back of her head. He pulls her into a desperate kiss, and the second her tongue traces the seam of his lips he finally seems to regain his hard earned confidence, he pushes into her as far as he can.

 

_God,_ she breathes, meeting his thrusts and stumbling through the kiss. After that, there's no more need for words, and the silence is where they find each other.


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning: this chapter is an AU of Daryl and Carol having an affair and because it's only a glimpse it doesn't resolve the issue of her marriage - so she's ultimately still with Ed (he doesn't appear in this, though). But if that bothers you, feel free to skip this chapter.

The hot water is raining down on her, steam gathering in thick clouds behind the high glass walls of the shower. Warmth crawls beneath her skin and settles deep in the marrow of her bones. She runs her hands down the length of her arms, taking soapy bubbles along the pale, freckled skin.

 

It's smooth, but she can feel the dull pain of fading bruises, throbbing under the ivory of her skin.

 

She can hear him stepping into the shower behind her, his presence radiating for a few seconds before she feels him behind her.

 

The corners of her mouth twitch as she fights a smile.

 

 

 

_Their clothes strewn across the hardwood floors of the hotel room, leaving a telltale trail. His hands on her hips, pulling her to him. Onto him._

 

_Her hands splayed against the floor to ceiling window. The city lights like stars in the night._

 

 

 

_Happy birthday,_ Daryl murmurs into the crook of her neck, pressing a kiss against her pulse point. She tilts her head to make room, sighing contently.

 

It's past midnight, she guesses, reaching behind herself to curl a hand around the back of his neck to lock him in place. His chest presses against her back, slick and warm. Comforting.

 

 

 

_Her breath fogging the glass. His grunts sending shivers down her spine as he buries himself inside of her to the hilt. Over and over._

 

_Bare feet against the cold floor. Her legs quivering as she fights to stay upright. The tension low in her belly too much to bear._

 

 

 

_Didn't hurt ya, did I?_ he asks hoarsely, and she tenses when his hands ghost over her arms, black and blue brush strokes impossible to hide. He didn't leave them there, but she knows he silently carries the weight of them.

 

She shakes her head, turns to seek a languid kiss. His lips are pliant and he hums approvingly, tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens up to him. Always.

 

 

 

_'Fuck, Carol.'_

 

_His voice thick, his hand cupping her breast, squeezing, drawing a loud moan from her she can't muffle. Her muscles fluttering around him._

 

_One of his hands finding hers against the glass, fingers slipping between hers as he pushes himself deeper into her. Tears dwelling in her eyes._

 

 

 

_I love you,_ she breathes into the kiss, each word drenched in the sadness of their pointlessness. It doesn't matter how much she loves him. How much he loves her back (and she knows it deep down). Come morning, she'll slip her wedding ring back onto her finger and leave Daryl behind with yet another broken piece of her heart.

 

Each time, she can see in his eyes how much he wants her to stay. And with each time she walks away it becomes harder _not_ to stay, to curl into his side and never leave.

 

_Love ya,_ he replies, one hand smoothing down to rest against her belly.

 

 

 

_His body pressing hers flat against the window, exposed to the world yet hidden all the same. High above the busy streets._

 

_Crashing over the edge with his name tearing from her lips, her walls contracting around him as he lets go. Groans into her shoulder and clutches her body flush to his own._

 

 

 

_You hungry?_ he asks, thumb drawing circles just below her belly button. It's all sweet and tender, no rush to it as the water cascades upon them. _Could order room service._

 

It was his birthday gift to her. A night in this expensive hotel. There's nothing he can give her that she can keep without risking Ed discovering their secret. And it's never been about material things (she knows he had to work extra hours to pay for this). But this, this one night away from everything, is an escape she was eager to accept. A taste of freedom.

 

Usually, they spend warm hours in Daryl's small apartment, tucked away from the rest of the world. But with Ed gone for a few days on a business trip, she was free to take this trip of her own.

 

_I'm fine,_ she assures Daryl, smiling softly.

 

 

 

_His breath on the back of her neck. His hand splayed over her abdomen. The sensation of him softening inside of her. Her skin flushed and tingling._

 

_Small aftershocks of her release fizzing in her veins._

 

_His lips ghosting over a scar on her shoulder._

 

 

 

She covers his hand with her own, the other curled into his hair. It's longer now than it was when she met him - nearly two years ago to the day. It tastes bittersweet to think of all the time that has passed. All the chances left wasted.

 

All the marks the passing of time has left on them both.

 

_Could get some pancakes._ It's a hesitant suggestion but she smiles anyway, turning in his arms until her breasts push against his chest and their heartbeats mingle. It's intimate and close and still she feels the same distance as always.

 

_Maybe later,_ she whispers, tucking her head against his shoulder as his hands come around her. Holding her together.

 

 

 

It's always right _after_ , when he covers every inch of skin he can reach with lazy kisses, when they're both too tired to move an inch, that Carol thinks she can do it.

 

Leave Ed behind and start a new life. It's promising, the thought of a life with Daryl, a life free of the pain she is so familiar with by now.

 

But her courage often fades like a tiny flame suffocated in the wind. And all that remains is two warm bodies marred by scars, seeking comfort in each other.


	10. ten

She stirs from her sleep slowly, eyes unwilling to open just yet as she feels the first beams of sunlight warming her face and a sweet tickling sensation against the back of her neck. Lips skim across the skin there, warm and slightly chapped.

 

Calloused fingertips run up and down her ribcage under the thin sheets, mapping her out from the underside of her breasts down to the rise of her hips. A naked chest presses up against her back, the heat of him crawling under her skin. She sighs contently, stretching her bare legs until her feet find his. They entangle easily, and the corners of her lips twitch in a lazy smile when he chuckles behind her.

 

Slowly, her eyes flicker open, briefly blinded by the hazy glow of the sunlight that falls in through the open curtains. A gentle breeze from the open window has them dancing, and the sky outside is a perfect shade of light blue with brush strokes of rosy pink and deep orange.

 

_Are you leaving?_ she asks, a sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. Almost as if to hold him here with her, she reaches up to take his hand, resting their entwined fingers against the sheets, his knuckles pressing into the softness of her belly.

 

Behind her, he gently shakes his head. _Not yet._

 

It's enough for now, and she pushes the well familiar fear away that sneaks up on her whenever he leaves for a run. Right now, they are here. Together. It's all that matters.

 

Maybe Daryl feels the same because the next second his lips find the tender spot below her ear, peppering tiny kisses their until she cranes her neck, pleading silently for more. For _him_.

 

She guides his hand up the plane of her stomach and to her breasts, a hoarse _touch me_ slipping from her lips, and he understands. Cups the weight of her breast in his hand, his thumb brushing ever so slightly over a dusty peak that hardens at his touch. His lips, always tender with her, mouth across her pulse point until he finds the crook of her shoulder, sucking at the pale skin just enough to send shivers down her spine.

 

One of his legs slips easily between hers, and she nudges her hips backwards until she can feel him hardening against the small of her back. Small stutters of his own hips press him more and more into her. When she parts her legs more, far enough for his thigh to press against the heat of her, he tries to bite back a groan.

 

She's still too hazy from sleep to be that strong, and whines his name into the early morning light. _Daryl, please._

 

The scratch of his stubble against her earlobe sparks through her veins. _Ain't no rush,_ he says low and lazily into her ear, his palm smoothing down her stomach until his fingers trail over soft curls and dip into her. _Wanna do it right._

 

He always does, never allows himself to just _take_ , to rush them through it. Sometimes, she can see the effort of it all tearing at him. And when he does break and comes apart against her, inside her, it's a marvelous sight.

 

_I want this,_ she assures him (doesn't say just how much), reaching behind herself to curl her hand around him. His hips stutter as she strokes him slowly a few times, up and down and trailing over the head, almost teasing when she guides him towards her.

 

He makes a desperate sound when he presses inside of her just barely, enough for her to feel the stretch and for him to feel the tightness of her. His forehead pressing against her shoulder, he reaches up with his free hand to hold onto her upper arm. _Carol,_ he pleads, nearly mewling her name, and her gentle nod is all it takes.

 

Slowly, he pushes into her so the both of them can feel the glide, until he can go no further. _Love ya,_ he breathes, and it's a promise (one he can not keep, but she locks it away in her heart no matter what).

 

When he moves again it's just as slow and lazy as before, and it makes Carol mourn all the peaceful Sunday mornings they could have had _before_. But she chooses not to dwell on all that and focus instead on this moment right now, Daryl's lips seeking out hers for a brief but tender kiss, his fingers teasing and stroking until the tension inside her snaps, the rugged sound of his breath against her back, the warmth of him all around her.

 

She's not afraid anymore.


	11. eleven

He knows something is off the second he climbs out of his truck, the slam of the door echoing in the dark and empty street. Feeling his forehead furrowing in confusion, Daryl takes in the sight of their house, pitch black. No light glowing behind a single window.

 

_The hell,_ he mutters, locking the door of the truck and making his way up the gravel path that leads to the yellow front door.

 

Some of his piss poor mood evaporates and is claimed by confusion instead. It wasn't meant to be a _surprise_ party...

 

He hadn't wanted a party in the first place, was more than content to spend his birthday on the couch with Carol and Sophia, watching a shitty move and ordering pizza. But Carol had insisted they celebrate properly, with a buffet and a whole fucking bunch of people. _You only turn forty once,_ she'd said with a bubbly smile and he'd given in eventually. Yet not without a great deal of disgruntled and disapproving remarks on every idea she threw at him.

 

All day at work he'd dreaded coming home to half the neighborhood crowding his damn living room, to people congratulating him and stuffing their faces with food he and Carol paid for. He is tired to the bone, exhausted and more than a little defeated.

 

But the house is dark, and if he didn't know any better he'd say that nobody is home at all.

 

The front door makes a familiar creak when he pushes it open, the long hallway dark as he steps inside. _Carol?_ he calls, shutting the door and switching on the lamp on the small table by the door.

 

He gets no reply but his eyes do catch a note on the table, folded neatly in the middle with his name on it. The keys to his bike right next to it.

 

_Let's take a ride._

 

Picking up the keys, he stares at her note for a moment longer, suddenly feeling excitement bubbling in his veins because clearly no party is happening and she's got _something_ planned instead.

 

With a new lightness to his steps he makes his way to the laundry room, not surprised to find the door to the garage unlocked. He pushes it open slowly, not sure what to expect.

 

Well, whatever it was he thought it could be... It wasn't _this_.

 

The garage is filled with the warm, glowing light of at least five dozen candles, placed everywhere from the concrete floor to the work benches and shelves.

 

The usual scent of motor oil is just barely noticeable and instead his nostrils are filled with the familiar sharp freshness of pine (scented candles, he assumes for a moment before his mind goes blank).

 

His bike stands in its usual spot, glossy in the light of the fire. But he has no eyes for it now. Not when Carol is sitting on top of it with her long legs dangling from one side - bare legs, pale and creamy in the low light.

 

_Happy birthday,_ she says with a low voice and a gentle smile, but he has trouble focusing on that when she's wearing some skimpy black lace lingerie set he's never seen before. It's barely there but the bra pushes up her breasts (and _fuck_ the light and shadows that dance in there) and the thin, delicate lace isn't enough to cover the dusty rose of her nipples that peaks through.

 

He swallows, eyes dipping down the plane of her stomach to her center, also barely covered by black lace, along the length of her legs down to her bare feet, toes barely grazing the concrete.

 

His own feet move without much prompting from him, and he can see some of her confidence crumbling when he remains silent. He doesn't stop until he is right in front of her, and he doesn't understand how she can doubt him when his cheeks feel scorching and his pants are getting so tight that she must be able to see.

 

_This ain't a party,_ he murmurs hoarsely, fingers twitching against his thighs. They've been together long enough for her to recognize the hitch in his breathing and within a second her blue eyes gleam with mischief once more.

 

_Do you want me to call the others?_ she asks coyly, and Daryl can barely hold in the groan at the sound of that.

 

_Hell no,_ he manages to huff before he closes the space between them and crashes his lips against hers. It's a bruising kiss and rougher than usual, but he is threatening to burst at the seams and a whole day's worth of frustration is bubbling to the surface now.

 

Carol doesn’t seem to mind, moaning deep in her throat and sending vibrations through him that tingle down the length of his spine. Her long legs come up to curl around his hips, ankles locking at the small of his back to pull him flush against her.

 

He's grinding straight against her now, feeling the warmth of her even through the denim of his jeans. She's quick to tilt her hips, sliding herself along his length and the friction is driving him mad. His hands have found her waist, fingers digging into her impossibly soft skin, pulling her flush against him with each determined thrust he makes.

 

_Fuck me, Daryl,_ she rasps into the kiss, sending a tremor through him and he grunts helplessly when her teeth sink slightly into his bottom lip. Not enough to draw blood but enough to make him quiver.

 

_What?_ he pants raggedly as he looks down at her, stunned to hear those words from her. She's not an angel and has a real mouth on her sometimes, prone to teasing the hell out of him on a daily basis. But this, to demand this so bluntly, that's uncharted territory.

 

The flush on her cheeks tells him that's she's hiding a lot of nervousness underneath the cover of her boldness.

 

_Fuck me,_ she repeats, slipping her hand between them to cup his erection through his jeans. _Now._

 

_Jesus,_ he hisses, nearly sending her tumbling backwards when he leans in to kiss her again. He keeps her steady with one hand at the small of her back, but is struggling to keep himself upright.

 

She's moving quickly, squeezing him and rubbing along his length before swiftly unbuckling his belt. Her tongue is fighting his as she hurriedly pushes his pants over his ass, curling her hand around him and wasting no time in stroking him. Quick, deft movements, and he can feel himself leaking and throbbing in her palm.

 

_Carol-_ he barely manages to form her name when she scoots forward on the bike and his dick is pressed flush against her center. Warm and damp and he can't fucking help but thrust against her. Hitting her just right and she arches her back and throws her head back, exposing the slender length of her neck. _Please, Daryl._

 

He wants to. Wants to drag the skimpy lace to the side and thrust into her. But they only just started this and he doesn't want to hurt her, wants to make sure she's ready and-

 

All thoughts evaporate when she drags one of his hands to her core by the wrist, and does just what he imaged. Pulls the lace roughly to the side and leads his hand to were she's fucking _soaked_ already.

 

_Started without you,_ she breathes, giving him a wicked smile and then his eyes are fixed down between them, his dick waiting and her slender fingers slipping easily into her core. She instantly moans, lips parted, and he watches transfixed as she moves her fingers in and out with an obscenely wet sound.

 

_Fuck._ He swats her hand away without a fragment of doubt left and grabs a hold of himself, settling his tip against her entrance. One last look up at her, one nervous flutter in his chest as she nods, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and he thrusts forward. Burying himself to the hilt in one impossibly warm, smooth glide.

 

He thinks he could come right then, stilling for only a moment as Carol's hands curl into the leather seat of his bike and her legs squeeze around him almost as much as her inner muscles around his neck.

 

But neither of them is willing to prolong the moment, and she's tilting her hips eagerly, sucking him impossibly deeper inside, and then he can't hold back anymore. Pulls back until just the tip of him remains before thrusting himself back inside. After that it's a rough rhythm that they both maintain, his hips snapping into hers as he pounds himself deeper and deeper into her.

 

His lips find her throat, feeling the trashing of her pulse. And he sucks at the tender skin until it bruises, relishing in the heady moan that it draws from her throat.

 

_Daryl- I... God!_ she yelps, helping to pull him back into her with her legs, one hand coming up to curl her fingers into his hair. She's demanding when she guides his head down past her collarbone, and Daryl feels sweat pearling on his neck when she presses his face against her breasts.

 

Her nipples are straining against the thin lace, and he doesn't bother pulling down the delicate fabric. Curls his lips around one hardened peak instead and _sucks_ , rasping his teeth across it as Carol's back arches and her muscles flutter around him.

 

The feeling of her lacy underwear dragging along his dick is driving him closer and closer to the edge and it isn't made easier by the sounds she's making (needy whimpers and the wetness of her as he pounds into her over and over). He reaches up to cup her other breast, pinching her nipple until she yelps, and usually he'd worry that he is hurting her - but she is only pulling him deeper into her, her ass just barely pressing into the edge of the seat by now. Even his hand at the small of her back, fingers splayed over her ass, can't balance her there for much longer.

 

_Stop,_ she breathes then and he does so instantly, freezes with his dick buried half inside of her. His eyes can't help but gaze down, watching himself disappear inside of her, the rest of him glistening with her wetness. But he is quick to look at her with concern.

 

Her hands splay over his chest and he gets the idea, takes a step back until he's pulling out of her. His mind is trying to make sense of what he did wrong, fear clouding his mind that he was too rough, but then her lips are back on his in a kiss that has his knees trembling.

 

Her tongue slips into his mouth, gliding against his and her hand is back on him in a heartbeat, squeezing her fingers around the base of him.

 

_Do it harder,_ she whispers hoarsely, and before he can even make sense of anything she is turning around and bending forward, bracing her forearms on the leather seat.

 

He can feel his eyes widening almost comically, but he doesn't give himself time to act like a complete fool. As he pulls her underwear roughly to the side again, splaying his hand over her ass and grazing the pad of his thumb against her entrance, he does wonder though.

 

The part of him that's always full of doubt, that even after all these years hasn't grown confident enough to truly believe that Carol loves him, that she is his wife, that Sophia is their own, that he has a family. That part of him wonders now what she is after, why she is edging herself back until his thumb slides into her and her breath hitches.

 

It's not like their sex life is boring. But with all the baggage they both carry, both of them are usually hesitant to step over certain lines. There are always restrictions, even with things they are comfortable with.

 

But there's nothing holding him back now when she pleads his name and he withdraws his finger, pushing his hard length into her instead until he bottoms out and curses her name. He doesn't miss the way her nails scrape over the leather seat for purchase, how her back arches, the candle light illuminating each dip of her spine.

 

Her words echo in his mind, heady and stirring the fire in his veins. _Do it harder._

 

And he does. Grasps her hips in his calloused hands and drives himself into her, over and over, her thighs pressing against the metal of the bike and his own slamming against her exposed skin. He is huffing with each breath and Carol's small yelps and gasps only spur him on more, drive him into her harder and faster and he's slightly worried that the bike will topple over from the force of his thrusts but screw that.

 

He's so close that he can feel himself throbbing with each thrust into her, and the way she's vibrating against him tells him she is not too far from crashing over the edge either.

 

_Touch yourself,_ he grunts, forgetting all about the fact that he really isn't brave enough to say stuff like this. Carol whines in response, one hand quickly slipping down her front and he can feel her fingers rubbing circles there, every now and then sliding against his dick.

 

Her muscles clench around him so tightly that he sees stars, one hand coming around her front to finally tug down the lace of her bra, feeling the hard nub of her nipple against his palm as he roughly drags his hand over it.

 

_I'm gonna-_ Carol pants hoarsely, pushing herself back against him eagerly, desperately. _God! Oh!_

 

He wants to see her when she comes - the flush on her cheeks and the part of her lips. Wants to silence her with a kiss and hold her to him when he spills into her.

 

It costs him all his willpower to stop, and he groans in time with Carol's positively _wretched_ exhale. _Daryl! wha-_ But this time he's the one who leaves no time for doubt. Spins her around and grasps her thighs. She understands instantly, curling her arms around his neck when he hoists her up and sits her back down on the seat.

 

Their chests flush together, her legs locked around him, hand tugging carefully at his hair.

 

_Please,_ she breathes, sucking his bottom lip between her own. _I'm so close._

 

A low and rumbling groan erupts from his chest and he allows her to guide him back to her entrance, everything so wet and warm and he glides right in, not pausing before he withdraws again. It’s barely a rhythm now, and he hardly gives himself time to fully retreat before plunging back in.

 

_Touch me,_ Carol gasps, grinding her pelvis against his and he just about has time to shove one hand between their bodies to circle the calloused pad of his thumb against her before he feels white heat coiling at the base of his spine.

 

_Carol! Fuck, I'm gonna-_ He doesn't even know how to form words anymore, all the air leaving his lungs in a strangled sort of cry as he thrusts himself even deeper into her.

 

_Yes!_ she cries, drawing him in, tightening around him as her back arches to the point he thinks her spine might snap, neck exposed and he dives right in, sinks his teeth just barely into the crook of her neck as he spills into her.

 

He keeps thrusting through it all, slower and more measured as he moves with each pulse of his release, and she's trembling in his arms with her own. Her muscles keep fluttering and contracting around him, and it's becoming harder and harder to move, but he's unwilling to let this end yet.

 

A warm hand eventually cups his cheek and he looks up from his spot against her shoulder, mesmerized by her bright smile. _Happy birthday,_ she whispers again, softer and with less mischief this time. The smile that tugs at his lips is automatic and he leans up without hesitation as Carol leans in, their lips meeting in a languid kiss as he finally stills inside of her. Their lips move at a leisurely pace, Carol's legs easing around him and her hand curling around his neck.

 

_Good surprise?_ she breathes, and he nudges his nose against hers as he barks out a laughter, nodding weakly.

 

_Where's Sophia?_ he asks, trailing one hand up and down Carol's spine, feeling her trembling in their tight embrace. He decides that he could stay here like this all night, screw the fact that his legs feel like jelly and sweat is beginning to dry on his skin.

 

Gently smoothing a strand of hair from his forehead, Carol tilts her head. _With Lori and Rick._ He guesses that makes sense, wondering how many of their friends were in on her cruel plan of torturing him all week (he hopes not a single one is in on _this_ particular part, though, and he blushes instantly at the thought). _All weekend,_ Carol adds and his head perks up at that, eyes wide as saucers.

 

The mischief is back in her eyes and her fingers trail down the side of his neck, briefly curling into the collar of his jacket before beginning to toy with the buttons. _I booked a room at that little hotel by the beach. We can leave tomorrow morning. I already told Dale and he got someone to cover your shift._

 

Her words slip from her mouth lazily and slightly raspy, another button popping open on every other word. He swallows deftly, caught between the feeling of her fingers trailing over each inch of newly exposed skin and his heart fluttering at the meaning of her words.

 

That _hotel?_ he asks shyly, cupping her cheek and pressing his forehead to hers. When she nods, he can't help but kiss her - softly now and with tenderness.

 

The hotel by the beach wakes sweet memories in him. Sand beneath their bare feet, the little house with the blue shutters hidden away behind dunes, waking up to the rush of the ocean and curtains dancing in the fresh breeze. Tasting the salt on Carol's lips as they watched the sun setting over the horizon. They'd only spent a few days there for their meager honeymoon, watching Sophia as she played in the waves, stretching out in the sun, basking in the warmth.

 

For years they've talked about going back, and he can't quite believe that she made this wish come true.

 

_I love ya,_ he breathes into the kiss, parting it slowly. He is quick to continue his path down south, across her flushed cheeks and jawline, the slender line of her neck where her pulse stutters under pale skin, over her collarbones, down the valley of her breasts (ever so slightly grazing the soft mounds, earning himself a soft moan). Her muscles flutter when he kisses a path down her stomach, finally having to step back and slipping out of her with a sigh.

 

Two hands sift through his hair as he reaches her abdomen, leaving open-mouthed kisses from one hipbone to the other, his own hand parting her thighs.

 

_It's_ your _birthday, not mine,_ Carol chuckles lightly, the last word strangled when he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, as high up as he can go without actually touching her where he knows she wants him to.

 

_Don't matter to me,_ he mutters into her skin, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world right here and right now. He looks up at her perched on his bike, blue eyes dark, and then he leans in, nudges his nose against the top of her before replacing it with his lips.

 

It's by far the best birthday he has ever had (and since Carol and Sophia came into his life, he has had many great ones).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this. Not a single one.


	12. twelve

Blood runs across the tiles in little rivers, the steaming water washing it away along with mud, dust and ash. He is rigid and immobile under the stream, head straight on his shoulders, eyes staring holes into the wall.

 

Her heart aches in her chest and she can only imagine what happened out there beyond the safety of their walls. Five had left on the supply run and only two returned, Daryl and Rosita walking through the gate with solemn expressions and blood crusting on their clothes and skin.

 

_I got you some clothes,_ she says with a raised voice so he can hear her above the rush of the water, but he does not stir. She watches through the steam as the water runs down his scarred back, each lash long healed on the skin but reaching so much deeper.

 

She'd kissed the rugged line across his shoulder just two days ago when she awoke sprawled across his naked back in the early hours of the morning.

 

Even with the length of the bathroom between them now, she can see him pulling away, internalizing everything that must rage in his mind. Hands are curled into tight fists by his thighs.

 

Without hesitation, Carol quietly slips out of her own clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the toilet seat. Daryl's own blood and mud caked clothes lie abandoned on a heap on the floor.

 

He doesn't move or acknowledge her presence when she steps into the shower behind him, the hot stream of water kissing her skin. But she doesn't let him deter her, knows him too well to misinterpret his silence as a need to be alone.

 

She wraps her arms around his slippery torso, feels his heart beating under her palm. Resting her head between his shoulder blades she feels him breathe, in and out in shallow movements.

 

_Ain't goin' out there no more,_ he chokes after a short moment, and she can her the tears in his eyes that steal his breath. _Ain't gonna leave ya._

 

The impact of his words shatter her (he _needs_ to be out there, in the wild, beyond the walls) and only reaffirms her fears that it must have been a truly close call this time. That thought only drives her further into their embrace, her lips pressing to his heated skin. She doesn't tell him that it's a bad decision, that he'll wither away in here. Neither does she tell him that she's grateful that she'll have him by her side, knowing him to be safe.

 

She doesn't say a word when he turns in her arms and kisses her with so much need that she rises onto the tips of her toes and holds on to his shoulders for leverage. There's hardly ever the need to say anything between them, and now is simply not the right time.

 

So, she lets him trail kisses down her neck and his hands curl around her waist, arches her back when he sucks at the pale flesh of her breasts and shifts his thigh between her legs, sighs his name when he lowers down onto his knees and leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the inside of her thighs.

 

The water rains down on them and washes away the last evidence of the horrors he witnessed as he kisses the center of her, maps her out and nibbles and _sucks_ until her knees buckle. But he is right there to hold her steady, strong arms around her legs holding her in place. She falls apart above him with his name on her lips and her head hitting the tiled wall, and when she finally looks back down, his cheek is resting against her abdomen. Eyes closed.

 

With a soft sigh, she curls her fingers into his hair, smooths her palm over his forehead and temple. Eventually, she slides her naked body down the cold tiles until she kneels in front of him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him with a soft understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we are half-way done with this already. I only have three more chapters to write, then the active part of this is over for me.
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy the next twelve days as much as you enjoyed the first :)


	13. thirteen

_Oh God,_ Carol pants, dropping her head back into the soft pillows. Her skin feels flushed and tiny jolts of electricity still spark in her veins as Daryl peppers sweet kisses along the inside of her thighs. _I was so loud._ Covering her face in embarrassment, she listens to his chuckle and the drum of her heartbeat in her ears.

 

_Don't mind,_ Daryl murmurs, pressing one last kiss just below her belly button before he rises from his spot between her spread legs. _Maybe Sophia should go to sleepovers more often,_ he suggests as he lies down by her side, his fingers trailing up her arm to cup a breast.

 

Laughing softly, Carol nudges her elbow into his ribs, the sound ending on a sigh when his thumb brushes over her nipple. He isn't all wrong. It _is_ nice to have the house to themselves tonight, to not have to stifle her sighs and moans. Smiling softly, she lets him take her hand, fingers entwining against his chest where his heart thunders against his ribcage.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he says hoarsely, ever so gently tugging at her hand. Heat pools in her core once more and she moves quickly, watching his features in the dim light as she sits up to straddle him. He groans beneath her when she slides down his abdomen and traps him firmly between their bodies. Rocking forward slightly, hands finding leverage on his chest.

 

She's teasing him and she knows it, but the way he bucks his hips up against her and reaches down to grasp her thigh make her feel powerful and smug and she can't help the smile that curls her lips. He doesn't miss it, his eyes darkening, and then he's twisting enough to reach out for the bedside table.

 

_Wait._ He freezes, his hand curled around the knob of the drawer. He looks up at her with a million questions in his blue eyes, and she hopes that the soft shake of her head will answer them all. Her heart flutters nervously in her chest, palms clammy.

 

Realizations dawns on him slowly and she can see him swallowing, searching in her features for even the smallest hint of doubt. _Ya sure?_ He sounds hopeful and cautious all the same, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her thigh as the other hand drops to the ruffled sheets.

 

_Hmm,_ she hums, reaching down to entwine their fingers. They have talked about this a few times. Having a baby of their own. Sophia is theirs now, has been since she was so little. But she knows Daryl mourns those first precious years of her daughter's life that he hasn't witnessed. _I'm ready,_ she reassures him, cupping his cheek. Last time they talked about this she could not have done this. After everything she endured with Ed, the fight she had to put up to leave, to rebuild her life. She simply wasn't ready. But she has been for a while now. _Really. I want this._

 

Her smile is gentle but genuine, and Daryl takes a deep, deep breath. _You wanna make a baby?_ he asks with a half-smile, his hand splaying over the flat, soft plane of her stomach.

 

She nods, tugging a little at his hand until he sits up, his chest flush against her own as her thighs bracket his hips. _I want to make a baby with you,_ she whispers, her lips brushing his with each word until she melts them together in a languid kiss that bursts with promise.

 

Nervous butterflies flutter in her veins as she reaches down between them, stroking him for a few beats until he breaks the kiss and looks at her pleadingly. Slowly, she lowers herself down onto him, eyes locked on his as she feels him stretching her, their thighs pressing together when she's gone as far as she can.

 

_Fuck,_ he hisses like it's the first time all over again, grabbing her hips to keep her still. A whimper passes her own lips rather than a curse, and she leans her forehead against his, needing to be closer, as close as they can be. She begins to move slowly, barely rocking herself back and forth, moving her hips in small circles that shift him inside of her in a maddening way.

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes when he eventually begins to move along with her, propping his feet against the bed until his knees rest against her back, grounding her. His thrusts are slow, deep and gentle and she smiles into the kiss he seeks. _I love you._

 

He all but swallows her words, cradling the back of her head against his shoulder as they move slowly together. She allows her eyes to flutter shut, breathing in the scent of him, her lips feathering over the side of his neck, her arms wrapped around him. He no longer stiffens when her fingers ghost over his scars, and the trust he has in her glows like a warm light inside of her.

 

She looks to the future with different eyes since she met him, and in this moment, not an ounce of fear can dampen her joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need a universe where they can be a happy family, ok? *sigh*


	14. fourteen

_we don't have time for this, we don't have time for this, we don't have time for this._ The words replay over and over in her mind, unwanted and intrusive, even as she clutches her hands to Daryl's shoulders and grinds herself against the bulge in his jeans.

 

_Fuck,_ Daryl grunts, his lips moving damply against the side of her neck.

 

She's pretty sure every inch of her skin is flushed bright red, and her breath is so ragged that she might as well have run from a herd of walkers. Her thighs begin to tire from the exertion but she keeps up her mad speed, circling her core against Daryl's without mercy.

 

She is _so close_. Can feel the heat coiling deep in her belly and her underwear wet with need. Daryl doesn't seem too far behind, his hands clutching her hips, fingers just barely inching under the hem of her white blouse.

 

There's no time. No time.

 

_Daryl, please. I need- God!_ She can't form coherent sentences anymore, not when he is thrusting up against her, the seam of her cargo pants pressing perfectly against her throbbing core. Her knees dig into the mattress by his sides, his own feet planted firmly on the ground. It gives him the leverage to move against her with the force they both seem to crave, and she's grateful that he's beginning to take over control here, all willpower leaving her.

 

His watch duty starts in five minutes. She should have been down at the pantry a while ago. The bedroom door is unlocked and she knows at least a few people are still in the house – she can hear Judith's bubbling laughter downstairs. They shouldn't. Shouldn't. But God if she doesn't _want_. Wants him all the time but when he'd kissed her goodbye ten minutes ago she could barely hold herself back. Had deepened the kiss and somehow they ended up here.

 

_Carol,_ he rasps, his thrusts picking up speed, harder and more forceful and she can almost feel him inside of her, stretching her, filling her. But there's no time. _We gotta stop,_ he pants, sucking slightly at the skin of her neck and dragging his teeth across the spot, a tremble running down her spine at the sensation.

 

_No,_ she whines, circling her hips instead, already feeling her inner muscles begin to flutter and her legs tingling with the prelude of her release. _Please._

 

Daryl makes a pitiful sound, clutching her to his chest. _We gotta. I'm gonna-_ he struggles to form the words, and the way he bucks his hips into her contradict whatever he is trying so hard to say. _Not like this,_ he pleads, but it's far too late.

 

Her back arches and she grinds down into him so hard that he groans too loudly, but she can barely hear him. Crashing over the edge, she feels white heat shooting through her veins, every muscle in her body contracting before releasing again. Stifling her moan against his shoulder, Carol continues to drag her core over his erection, relishing in the aftershocks.

 

But her muscles are still fluttering, her body barely recovered when Daryl pushes her hips off his, and she nearly looses balance perched on just his thighs. _Not like this,_ he pleads again, looking wretched.

 

She takes mercy on him, knows he thinks they're just going to stop now. But her hands make quick work of his belt and zipper, the teeth dragging down noisily in the quiet room. Her lips slant over his in a searing kiss when she pushes his pants open and reaches inside. Trembling fingers curling around him and pulling him out.

 

It only takes a handful of slow strokes before he pulses in her palm, before he groans into their kiss and bucks into her. The warmth of his release spills over her hand, and she keeps moving it slowly, measured strokes with less pressure until he trembles against her.

 

_Shit,_ he breathes, lips twitching into a half-smile against hers. _Gonna be late._

 

She laughs, a sound full of lightness. Pulling back, he looks up at her, eyes still dark, lips damp from their kisses. His hand finds her flushed cheek, the pad of his thumb trailing over her cheekbone. _We should go,_ she whispers, still feeling the lack of time like an uneasy presence in the back of her mind. Yet at the same time, she's content right here, her body slack against Daryl’s, letting him hold her

 

_Yeah, we should,_ he agrees, but his thumb trailing over her bottom lip speaks a different story.

 

Neither of them makes it out of the room in time. Not even close.


	15. fifteen

She's clever enough not to startle him. Makes him feel safe before she cautiously tip toes across a line they have not dared to cross yet.

 

He'd have been content to never cross it. Not for a lack of curiosity, that's for sure. But he wasn't ever going to ask her for this. Hell, he already feels like the luckiest son of a bitch in the world that he gets to be with her like this at all. And he has learned the hard way not to expect too much from life.

 

So, when he's laying naked on a soft mattress with Carol straddling his thighs (just as bare, the warmth of her core pressing against his thigh where she grinds down every now and again with a little sigh) he feels the same familiar sensations. They never dull, but he knows them by now.

 

The taste of her lips when her kiss deepens, the softness of her hands roaming over his chest and arms. The quivering of his own muscles when she kisses a line down the center of his chest, heart thundering under her caresses.

 

He expects what he knows. For her lips to stop roaming just shy of his belly button and for her hands to take over. To smooth up the insides of his thighs and curl around him (hard and leaking and aching for her). To stroke him slowly but firmly until he can't stand it anymore, until she slides her core against his length before taking him inside in a smooth glide.

 

His breath stutters when she takes a different route. The second her lips wander below his belly button, feathering across the quivering plane of his abdomen, he leans up, supporting his weight on his elbows.

 

_Carol?_ he asks softly, not sure if he's making the wrong assumptions. She looks up with a coy expression, a deep flush spreading from her cheeks down her slender neck and across her freckled chest. _What'ya doin'?_

 

Her hand has found his thigh, splaying there until the tips of her fingers are just a bare inch away from where he so desperately needs to feel her.

 

_I want to try,_ she breathes, looking deeply into his eyes before leaning down against to press a firm kiss to his abdomen. He can't help the slight buck of his hips, but reaches down to touch her cheek all the same.

 

_Y'ain't gotta do that,_ he reassures her, suddenly panicking. Nobody has ever... He thinks back to the handful of sexual encounters he has had before the world went to shit. A collection of shitty memories that taste of cheap liquor and smoke, and he feels dirty and clammy just thinking about it.

 

Nobody ever did that and he sure as hell never _wanted_ nobody to do it.

 

But with Carol, everything is different. Nothing about when they are together feels cheap and dirty. And maybe, just maybe, he wants to know what this can feel like. With her.

 

_Let me?_ Her voice trembles a little, and he swallows deftly. Gathering the last of his courage he manages a curt nod, staying completely immobile as she gives him a faint smile and leans back down.

 

She gives him time to get used to the idea, runs her hands up and down his thighs, mouths kisses from one hipbone to the other. Maybe, he wonders, she's giving herself time to warm up to the idea. It's a thought that makes him uneasy, the idea she's doing this against her will, just because she thinks he might enjoy it.

 

They never talked much about _before_. What they endured. There is a silent understanding and he prefers it that way, but sometimes, especially since they took a step forward in their relationship, he's at a loss. Doesn't know quite how to read her when it comes to all _this_.

 

One way or the other, it feels fucking amazing so far and the soft sighs she breathes against his sensitive skin are putting him under a spell.

 

The first touch of her lips on him (warm and damp, soft and so very gentle) and he is lost. With a groan he lays back down, hands curling into the sheets. She doesn't move away, makes use of his defenselessness to run her tongue up the length of him. He's throbbing for her, his pulse rushing in his ears.

 

_Carol-_ he gasps, knuckles white as she presses a bold kiss to his tip, and one glance down is enough to completely shatter him. It's only a second, but God is it enough to drive him that much closer to release. Her tongue darts out briefly, licking glistening liquid off her lip. _Shit,_ he curses, taking stuttering breaths.

 

She quickly keeps moving, one hand joining her efforts and curling around him. Her strokes are slow, measured, her lips teasing him now with kisses that are chaste in themselves but make him blush like a damn virgin right now. It's becoming increasingly more difficult to keep still, but the last thing he wants is to shove himself into her mouth like a complete asshole. But the way her other hand is still sneaking up his thigh and her lips slowly taking him into her mouth - he's straining with the effort of stilling his hips.

 

A muffled curse passes his lips and Carol hums in response, the vibrations of her lips around him sending shockwaves through his system. It's too much, and she's slowly taking more of him into her mouth, impossibly warm and wet and he squeezes his eyes shut. The sight of her will send him over the edge straight away, and he doesn't want to, no yet.

 

(burning cheeks and shy eyes and soft lips, delicate fingers curled around him, her breasts pressing against his thighs)

 

Her moves are steady and slow, careful like she knows how much he struggles - and perhaps that's easy to deduct considering how his entire body trembles, all muscles tense as white heat simmers at the base of his spine. Her hand rests on his hip now, maybe to steady him, maybe for leverage - he can't think clearly anymore.

 

All he knows is that she suddenly stops taking him in further, and he figures that she's taken him as far as she's comfortable with. Is almost ready to accept that this is as far as this is going to go when she starts to _move_ , slowly up and down and stroking the rest of him with a tight grasp and his eyes shoot open then against his will.

 

_Fuck,_ he grunts, watching her now because how can he not? One hand reaches out, eager to hold her, to touch her, but he's afraid what he'll do as he loses more and more control of his body and so he grasps the sheets instead. Sensing his dilemma, Carols smooths her free hand over his abdomen and finds his, curling her fingers around his and allowing him to squeeze.

 

He's so close, so fucking close and it's going to be over in a second if she keep moving her tongue around him like this, making gentle humming noises that cause him to tremble from head to toe. But he doesn't want this to end like this, doesn't want her to have to deal with the mess of it. And most of all, he wants to make this good for her, too. It's all he ever wants. Sure as hell ain't an expert on sex, still blushes when he remembers the fumbling mess of their first few times. But he's worked on his meager skills, has learned to read her better and make her feel as good as he possibly can.

 

(when he's the one resting between her spread legs with his lips mapping her out and her back arching under his touch, it's the best damn thing in the world - but it can't possibly be the same for her)

 

_'m gonna-_ he starts, lungs aching as he sucks in a sharp breath when she _sucks_ , actually sucks and he's about two seconds away from ruining this. _Carol, stop._ It's a strained sound and she only hums, his eyes widening at her apparent consent for him to let go. No way. No. _Wanna- together._

 

She does stop then when his hand cups her cheek. Slowly, teasingly, she lifts her head, eyes dark. Her tongue darts out one more time to spread over the tip of him, making him groan in frustration.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he rasps, already fumbling to pull her up towards him. She sighs as she sinks into the mattress and he settles into the cradle of her thighs, pushing into her without any further thought. It's one long, smooth glide and she whimpers his name, clutches at his shoulders. His forehead presses against her collarbone, trying hard to last at least a dozen strokes - to give himself the chance to help her get there, too.

 

His hand sneaks between them to circle her and she shudders, muscles fluttering around him.

 

_Was it- Oh!_ she starts breathing, silenced briefly when he begins to thrust into her slowly, deep strokes that have his body screaming for release. _Was it okay?_

 

The shyness in her words startles him a little. Usually, he's the one to question himself, to seek validation. But now when he looks down at her, she's almost coy, eyes wide and open. It's beyond him how she can doubt herself, but he also has no clue how to make her understand what this meant to him – what _she_ means to him. Words always fail.

 

He nods instead, quickly breaching the distance to kiss her, full and deep. They move together towards the edge, his hand stuttering as she clenches around him and nips at his bottom lip. Her breasts press flush against his chest when her back arches almost violently off the bed, and he buries himself deep when he comes, groaning into an abandoned kiss.

 

_Love ya,_ he murmurs, heart fluttering when her lips curl into a smile against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay :/ I had a really busy day and no time to edit and post.


	16. sixteen

Half of her body is fighting the urge to cover herself. To clamp her legs together and push him away.

 

The other half, however... Well, the other half is arching into his featherlight touch, whispering his name like a plead, curling her fingers into his messy hair and gently but urgently tugging him forward.

 

A long list of bad memories cloud her mind, her husband's venomous words cutting through her like knifes - almost enough to overshadow all the good she is feeling right now. The broad expanse of Daryl's shoulders between her legs, his hands pressing into the insides of her thighs to keep her spread open for him. The whisper of his kisses (damp and burning her skin as his beard rasps against it) against her, just shy of where she wants him to be (where she wants to want him).

 

He is hesitant, gentle to the point where he is teasing her more than anything. Whenever she is brave enough to glance down she can catch a glimpse at the flush on his cheeks, and she is surprised all over again that he wants to give this a try.

 

_Daryl,_ she whispers, and he looks up through his hair with curious and shy eyes. _You don't have to._ She told him that before when he kissed a path down her stomach and peeled her underwear down her legs as his lips whispered a question against her abdomen. Asking for permission to try.

 

_I wanna,_ he reassures her again, and when he dives back in, lips pressing a kiss to her curls, Carol grasps the sheets. A shiver runs through her body when he lingers, the warmth of his touch promising what is to come.

 

She is pretty sure he doesn't have much experience at this, if any at all, but if he has proven one thing in the past few weeks it's dedication and effort to learn, to improve, to figure out how to make her feel better than she has in years.

 

When he presses a kiss to her, just an inch or so lower than before, her hips jolt off the bed in an instant.

 

_Easy,_ he rasps, his breath warm against her slick skin, and one calloused hand comes up to rest on her abdomen, keeping her steady.

 

_Do that again,_ she breathes, allowing her body to fall back against the bed, and her legs to open a little more. Her mind too clouded now to feel embarrassed, Daryl’s touch too genuine for doubt to creep into her actions.

 

He wants to give her this and she will take it. After all, she trusts him - more than anyone else, even more than herself most days. Her eyes flutter shut as he begins to explore her, his tongue trailing along the outlines of her, nearly inching back towards her thigh, teasing and yet causing heat to pour into her lower abdomen.

 

Growing bolder, he runs the tip of his tongue up her core, tasting the moisture there and lingering on the spot that has her gasping his name, fighting to keep her hips steady. He senses her dilemma, probably feels the quivering of her muscles, and runs soothing circles with his thumb just below her belly button.

 

Apparently realizing that he did something right, Daryl focuses his tongue on her clit, running small circles around it that remind of the touch of his hand on her (the way she'd showed him). It's driving her closer and closer to the edge at rapid speed, her body already tensing, and she curls her hands so tightly into the sheets that she can feel the white of her knuckles pressing through.

 

But then he stops, and a whine tears from her throat, the build up towards her release instantly shattered. _Why di-_ she starts, but then she can feel his tongue at her entrance, pushing against it just slightly, and her eyes shoot open the same second he begins to push it in, just a little. Teasing the muscles there and drawing a moan from her lips that she stifles with the back of her hand.

 

_Oh God!_ she pants, feeling his tongue edging forwards and moving back, over and over and she is quickly feeling the coil in her belly tightening again. But it's not quite enough and she squirms on the sheets, eager and impatient and desperate for him to take her there.

 

And he understands, always knows when he needs to stop teasing and experimenting. Knows when he needs to stick to what works to get her there.

 

Pulling his tongue from within her he trails it back up to her clit, circling there with more pressure than before. The hand that held her hips down trails up her stomach and towards her chest, cupping the weight of a breast in his palm. When he drags his thumb over the stiff peak she nearly cries, stars shimmering behind her closed eyes, her breathing so labored that she has to fight to suck air into her lungs.

 

His other hand sneaks down to her center as well, and when she feels the tips of two fingers pressing against her entrance she can't help but tilt her hips forward. Daryl doesn't waste time on teasing her then, sliding both fingers in without hesitation. She can feel the stretch of him up to his knuckles, her legs beginning to quiver when his fingers curl and drag along her walls, every muscle in her body tightening.

 

_Daryl! I'm- Oh!_ she stutters, reaching down once more to curl her fingers into his hair and press him further into the cradle of her thighs, afraid that he'll stop. She knows deep down that he won’t, but this feel too good to risk it.

 

And then he takes her off guard, her eyes shooting open and all the tension in her body releasing all at once when his tongue is replaced quickly by his lips and he sucks at her, sending her crashing over the edge with a cry she can barely muffle against the pillow.

 

He soothes her through it, doesn't stop the thrusts of his fingers, gently curls his tongue around her again, fingers brushing across her nipple.

 

Her body shakes with the aftermath, her muscles still clamped around his fingers, contracting until she shifts her hips away from the stimulation. Daryl pulls his fingers from her then, pressing one last kiss to her center before looking up at her.

 

Despite it all, he still looks so shy.

 

She smiles through the haziness she still feels, her limbs light and heavy at the same time, skin tingling with sparks. But she manages to reach down towards him, and he understands, crawling up until his hips are flush with hers and he can press a kiss to her lips.

 

Tasting herself in the kiss, Carol sighs, curling her hands around his shoulders. Holding him close. Thanking him silently the way she can't quite express with words yet.


	17. seventeen

He'd wanted to wait. Wanted to do it right. Make it good for her.

 

Hell, he'd had this whole plan set up about fixing up one of the empty cells down in A block, get a real nice mattress, some good pillows. Maybe some curtains if she's into that. Flowers in a vase. Maybe a picture on the wall. Make it a real home for her. Give them some fucking privacy.

 

All they've done is kiss some (and he thinks each time he could die happy in her arms with her soft lips against his and her warm tongue deep in his mouth). And that one time she'd sneaked her hand into his pants in the dead of night and curled around him, stroked him a handful of times before he'd come all over her hand like a damn teenager. He'd nearly crushed her afterward, sliding on top of her and kissing her breathless. Shoving his hand into her pants and feeling the wetness there.

 

She'd showed him how to touch her, had muffled soft and needy sounds against his shoulder until she clenched around him. He still feels proud of that, of making her feel that way.

 

But there's never any goddamned time or place to take a step further, someone always rustling about in the main hall or outside the cells. Not an ounce of privacy. So he decided to wait. To find a way.

 

Only he didn't think it would happen like this.

 

Not in a dark and moldy-smelling broom closet with walkers moaning outside the door. Not with his pants shoved hastily over his ass and her own tugged down to her ankles, one boot kicked off. Not with her long, pale leg curled around his hip and the other balancing on the tips of her toes. Not with his hands holding her upright against the wall. Not like this.

 

But it _is_ happening. And fuck does it feel good.

 

_Carol,_ he pants into the crook of her neck, careful to remain quiet, but the moment he pushes into her (her hand curled around the base of him to guide him) he can't keep quiet, and he sure as hell can't stop the wet sound it makes when he slides right in to the hilt.

 

_Ah! Daryl,_ Carol breathes, her hands now both curling around his neck for leverage. He pauses for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, tying to not focus on the tight, warm feel of her around him or the warmth of her breath against his neck. About the fact that he's _inside_ of her, that she wants this, is tilting her hips in chase of something. _Move,_ she pleads, running her fingers down his scalp and sending a tremble through his body. _Please._

 

He couldn't have stayed still for a moment longer even if he wanted to. As he pulls out and pushes back into her, he knows this won't last long. Too much adrenaline rushes through his veins and it's been too damn long. But he can at least try.

 

Carol is making soft sounds against him, eagerly tilting her hips and drawing him back inside. _This good?_ he asks, a blush gleaming on his cheeks but he needs to make sure, needs to know that this feels as good for her as it does for him.

 

_Yes,_ she whispers, rocking forward, her pelvis grinding against his and a moan tears from her throat that she has to muffle against his shoulder, her whole body shuddering and her muscles tightening around him for a brief second. Shit. He needs to feel that again.

 

He does it on purpose then, tilting his own hips just right and the changed angle has her clawing at his shoulders and damn she is so tight around him, too tight. He can't keep this up much longer.

 

But the way she grinds into his thrusts almost desperately and the way he's holding her up more than she is holding herself (her leg hitching higher around his his, giving them both more room) he has a feeling she might be close. Doesn’t want to count on it, though and so he dives in for her neck, presses open-mouthed kisses against the pale slope, feeling her pulse trashing.

 

_Oh God! I'm-_ she mewls when he nibbles at her earlobe, one of his hands reaching up to cup the weight of her breast through their clothes. Faintly, he can feel the rise of her nipple and he pinches it, going by pure trial and error, but he must've done something right because the next second she clamps down on him, her nails digging into his shoulders, a moan wrecking her body.

 

And it's too much. Way too much and he thrusts erratically a few more times as white heat spreads through his body, trying to bury himself as deep inside of her as he can. He spills his release into her with a few more stuttering movements of his hips, breathing heavily against her shoulder.

 

It might not be the way he imagined it, but when Carol looks up at him and he makes out a smile in the semi-darkness, he figures that things rarely go according to plan – and that that's not a bad thing at all.


	18. eighteen

He doesn't know how the fuck they ended up here. Sweaty and panting and tangled up in one another in the driver's seat of his old man's ratty truck.

 

All he knows is that Carol is his best friend, that he loves her more than anything else (is so pathetically _in love_ with her that he sometimes imagines marrying her and having kids and moving into some secluded farm house with a bunch of dogs and shit; Merle would beat his ass if he could read his mind). He ain't got the balls to tell her any of that, though. And she's been seeing that asshole Ed Peletier for the past few months anyway. Plays football, has stinky rich parents. Ain't like he's got a chance, even if he had the guts to try.

 

(he's miserable and poor and his family's reputation is hard to shrug off - most days he doesn't understand why she bothers with his company at all)

 

They are here now, though, his hands on her bare hips and her knees digging into his thighs and the cracked leather seat. Her breath is damp against his throat, fingers splayed over his chest, the other hand buried in his hair.

 

She dragged him to the stupid party, and he'd only come along because he knew how frustrated she was that her car was broken and she had to rely on others to drive her. With his old man out of town for a blessed few days and the truck at his disposal, he'd offered to play taxi. And then he'd been pushed onto Rick Grimes' couch with a bunch of noisy people chatting and listening to loud, annoying music and someone shoving snacks at him every five minutes.

 

And then someone had gotten the empty beer bottle out of the trash.

 

It all went downhill form there. Only it doesn't feel downhill, not with Carol's muscles fluttering around him still, or the warmth of her that's practically seeping into his skin.

 

Spin the bottle. Like a bunch of kids. He'd tried go sneak off but Shane had dragged him to the floor and before he knew what was happening the bottle landed on him and Carol was suddenly _right there_ with shy eyes and a pretty flush on her cheeks. His brain had shouted no but the second her lips touched his (tentative and soft), he'd admitted defeat. She was warm and tasted of cherry and when she hummed softly and deepened the kiss he forgot all about the others. Watching them. Only when they started cheering did Carol pull away, eyes dark and wide. Curious.

 

(he saw her later from his periphery, touching trembling fingertips to her lips)

 

She'd looked at him all night, small glances across the room that made him flush and fidget. Hadn't said a word.

 

Not until they were halfway to her place and she was squirming nervously in the passenger seat. _Pull over,_ she'd said, and he'd done so right away - thinking she was going to be sick or something (confused because she barely had anything to drink and he knows she can take more than that).

 

But she wasn't sick, not even a little bit. He, however, felt his stomach doing somersaults when she suddenly unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over, her lips colliding with his and knocking the air right out of his lungs. It was messy and sloppy and he wanted to slow this down, but against her he was completely defenseless.

 

She was curious the way she touched him, almost as if she was searching for something in the deepening kiss, in the way her hands roamed over him and slipped under his shirt, down to the bulge in his jeans he couldn't hide (she swallowed his groan and nipped at his bottom lip and he thought he might be seeing stars behind his closed eyes).

 

Like mad she fumbled with her clothes and before he could say or do much more than cup her breasts through her blouse and mouth kisses on her neck, her shoes and pants and underwear were laying in a mess on the floor of the truck. Her pale long legs seemed endless in the moonlight that fell in through the windows and he felt like a creep for staring at the shape of her thighs and what lay between them.

 

Only for a second though before she moved, hands hastily undoing his belt as she climbed into his lap. His hand was the only thing between her head and the roof of the truck and he sifted his fingers through the auburn curls, tucked her to him as she reached into his pants.

 

Chilly fingers curled around him and he almost came right there and then, all over her midnight blue blouse and creamy thighs. But he didn't, groaned her name when she slid herself along his length (so fucking warm and wet).

 

He wasn't sure if she knew that he's never done this before (ain't even sure if _she_ has and fuck if that's bit a terrifying thought because it shouldn’t happen like this). It sure as hell was not the way he imagined it (and God has he imagined it a million different ways. always slow and tender and perfect and it's none of that now).

 

Her other hand disappeared between them a second later and it took him a while to realize what she was doing, rubbing furiously at herself and panting against him. Before he could come apart at the sight of that she shifted her hips and then he was pressing right against her. She hesitated for one moment (a moment that had him thinking that she didn’t actually have the confidence and experience she'd made him believe) but then she sank down on him slowly, inch by inch, her eyes squeezed shut and her forehead wrinkling.

 

_Am I hurtin'ya?_ he pressed on a strangled exhale, the first words either of them had said since this all started.

 

She shook her head, bit her bottom lip in the most distracting way, and he knew then she was lying. Didn't understand what she was trying to prove when she started moving her hips, up and down, her walls squeezing him, in circles that shifted him deep inside.

 

He knew he wouldn't last. Was surprised he even made it this far. And somehow he knew that this wasn't about release for Carol. She was chasing something, all right. But not that, or else she wouldn’t have stopped moving her fingers against herself, grasping his shoulders instead.

 

He did have a small sense of pride though and refused to just give in without at least _trying_ to make this better for her than what it was. As he started to feel white heating gathering at the base of his spine he shoved a hand between them to where her own had been, and judging by the sharp breath she sucked in he was doing something right.

 

It was all trial and error and then she was too tight around him, grinding into his lap and he came with a mewling, pathetic sound that she eagerly swallowed in a kiss.

 

And now here they are, his skin prickling with electricity, the windows foggy and Carol's body slack on top of his.

 

_Are you okay?_

 

He wants to laugh as she breathes the words against his overheated skin, but instead he fights a sad smile and runs his hand up and down her back. The other is splayed over her thigh, feeling the tension there softening.

 

He hums, not really an answer but Carol doesn't press him for more. Leans back to kiss him full on the mouth instead, tender and almost chaste.

 

It tastes like the promise he would like this to be.


	19. nineteen

There's not enough time, never. No minutes to spare that could make this more than clothes pushed roughly out of the way with fingers stiff from the cold and soft moans and deep groans silenced with chapped lips.

 

But fuck if he doesn't want more. He does, desperately, and he hopes silently that Carol feels the same, that she craves more than another quick fuck against a wall or bent over a dusty counter. It's all it is now, all he can give her, all she'll take from him.

 

(her fingers pushing down his pants that fall easily off his narrowing hips, pushing herself up against him, warm and wet and whispering his name until he can't help but drive himself inside of her, clinging to her hips, her shoulders, the bark of a tree, the edges of a ratty couch, thrusting into her at a quick pace because _there's no time_ and coming apart with a groan he muffles in a messy kiss.)

 

At night, when she buries her head against his chest and curls her fingers under the layers of his shirt, sighing softly when her cold palm kisses warm skin, he can never quite suffocate the flicker of hope that she wants more, too. Something as soft and gentle as this very moment, seeking warmth and comfort.

 

When he tries, though, she doesn't let him. When he trails kisses down the slender curve of her neck instead of pushing himself into her, when his fingers seek out the hem of her shirt to feather up her flat and quivering stomach, when he mouths at her breasts through the layers of her clothes, when he slows his thrusts from angry to slow – dragging himself in and out of her so lazily that he shudders from head to toe – she never allows it for long. Tugs at his hair for a proper kiss (quick and messy and over too quickly), curls her fingers around his wrist and drags his hand away, away, far away until she shoves it between her legs so harshly that he's sure he must be hurting her, pushing her hips into his until he bottoms out, clawing at him, steering him.

 

Until he gives her what she wants. Hard and fast and he's usually spent long before he can get her there, too. But she's encouraging him, digging her hands into his thighs, muffling her moans into his neck, _clenching_ around him on purpose and all but pushing him over the edge.

 

He wants to undress her slowly, wants to kiss every inch of pale and freckled skin that he exposes, wants to kiss her fucking _everywhere_ she'll let him. It's what he hopes for when he comes too early, when he watches Carol wipe the evidence of it all from her thighs, when he sees her rub her sore shoulder where it met the wall thrust for thrust.

 

He hopes that one day he will be given the chance to do this right. That one day, she'll let him _try_.


	20. twenty

She's unprepared when he says the words. Wasn’t sure she'd ever hear them, no matter how much she knew them in her heart to be true. Too great was her worry that he wouldn't ever find the bravery so say them out loud. And too great her own fear of being ready enough to say them herself and taking his fears away.

 

It would have been all right to never hear them. She can see them in his eyes when he looks at her, can feel them in his caressing and shy touches, can sense them in his every move.

 

That is why, even though he takes her by surprise, she accepts them without a shred of doubt. Her lips instantly curl into a smile, still swollen from his kisses. Her hands curl around his shoulders to keep him close, sweat-slick and bare where he balances his weight above her. Her legs lock around his hips even tighter, keeping him inside of her where he is still pulsing with his release.

 

He is still hiding his face in the crook of her neck, his warm breath tickling her throat, and she feels him pressing a tender kiss there, almost like an apology.

 

_I love you, too,_ she breathes softly, her heart swelling in her chest. He must be able to feel it where his chest is pressing against the swell of her breasts. His own beats the same mad rhythm.

 

In her arms, he shudders a little at the sound of her words, and the effect they have on him nearly brings her to tears. No matter how convinced she is that he knows them to be true, she also knows him well enough to know that he will struggle to accept them.

 

So she turns her head, lifts a hand to press against his cheeks, and waits for him to move. He does, slowly, looking up at her with his eyes hidden behind the mess of his hair. Skin just as flushed as her own.

 

_I love you,_ she repeats, leaning in to brush her lips against his slowly, languidly. It's a comfort and a promise and she can taste the relief on his tongue.

 

He probably didn't even mean to say it. Was just as overwhelmed by the moment as she was. Their bodies moving together, her back arched off the bed, pearls of sweat beading on flushed skin, her muscles clenching around his as he brought her over the edge with a clumsy hand, his own release wrecking his body. Drawing the words from his lips that have been dormant for a long time.

 

Lips curl into gentle smiles, the kiss turning sloppy. But the echo of their confessions still tingle on their parted lips, where naked skin is pressed together, where she keeps them joined even as he begins to soften.

 

_Love ya,_ he repeats, the same low murmur as before, but it's slower now, almost lazy as he balances his weight on his forearms and frames her head in his calloused palms. _Love ya so much._

 

She'll never tire of hearing the words from his lips.


	21. twenty one

It feels like heaven. The warm water raining down on her sore and aching limbs. She scrubs away a month's worth of sweat, dirt and crusted blood until her pale skin is raw and polished.

 

A gust of cold air hits her and goosebumps erupt all over her skin when the shower door opens. Quickly, Daryl slips inside, naked from head to toe and smiling softly through the steam.

 

_Sophia's in the rec room with Carl and Lori,_ he explains, wasting no time stepping under the stream and curling his arms around her. _Figured we could save some water._

 

Carol smiles, resting her head against his shoulder, content to just stand here for a few minutes. Safe. Daryl's hand smooths up and down her back, taking with him the last remaining bubbles from her shampoo.

 

_Y'all right down 'ere?_ he asks in a soft murmur, resting his chin on the crown of her head.

 

He sounds tired and she can't deny the fatigue settling in the marrow of her bones. Once more she is reminded of the fact that they are deep underground and the walls of the shower seem to close in on her. Instinctively, she burrows further into their embrace, curling her arms around Daryl's neck.

 

_Better than up there,_ she breathes, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

She can feel Daryl nodding gently, and he steadies her with a calloused palm against the small of her back. _Gonna be safe here for a while._ She wants to believe him, wants to believe that this place can offer them all the shelter and answers they sought. _You and Soph can sleep tonight. 's all that matters._

 

His words cause her chest to contract and she pulls away far enough to look up at him. Gently, she tucks away a strand of hair, resting her hand against his cheek. Leaning up on her toes, she kisses him softly, just a press of her lips - dry from the heat - against his.

 

_You need to sleep, too,_ she whispers into the kiss, unwilling to pull away now that they’re this close. _You need rest._

 

She knows he hasn't slept much since it all started. Since the news reports got more and more scary, since they had to leave their house and all their memories behind. Sleep evades her, too. And when she woke from another restless slumber on the rough bed of blankets at the Quarry, she could usually make out his silhouette as he sat outside the tent, doing all he could to keep them safe.

 

Even now she expects him to brush it off, but he kisses her instead. _'m good right here._ His voice is hoarse and low, sending small shivers down her spine. She understands what he means, has missed being this close to him. In mutual understanding the kiss deepens, his tongue tracing her lips and being granted access instantly.

 

Her hands find purchase on his shoulders as she sighs, his own calloused palms running up and down her sides, briefly grasping her hips, grazing the underside of her breast, teasing the top of her thighs.

 

She's greedy for his touch now, arching into him. Willing to make the most of what little time they have for themselves.

 

_Carol-_ he gasps when she grinds her hips into his, feeling him hardening against her belly. _We shouldn't._

 

She shakes her head gently, pressing kisses to his cheek, along his jawline, feeling his heartbeat picking up speed.

 

_Ain't got anything._ His hands contradict his desperate plea for her to stop, coming between them to cup her breast gently, teasing her hardening peaks with the pads of his thumbs. Sparks shoot through her veins at the gentle touch and she moans softly, a sound that's nearly muffled by the stream of the water.

 

_It'll be all right,_ she assures him, doing the math in her head and reaching down to curl her hand around him, smooth strokes made easier by the warm water. He bucks into her touch instantly, hips thrusting into her palm, and even after all these years she still can't hold in the proud smile that tugs at her lips. _Please._

 

He exhales slowly in defeat. _'m filthy._

 

She laughs softly but takes a step back, looking up at him - not surprised to see his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed. _Let's clean you up then._

 

It's slow and unhurried when she smooths her palms over his chest, back and legs, soap lathering and taking away all traces of the horrors they have endured. Every now and then, Daryl sighs softly when her hands press into his shoulders, fingers massaging his skull or her palms smooth over the inside of his thighs. Around their feet, the water begins to clear.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he rasps eventually, turning to face her. His palms frame her face and pull her in for a deep kiss that has her shivering in anticipation. She wastes no time, hooking one leg around his hip and grinding into him, impossibly wet and throbbing for him. She needs this, to feel him all around her, deep inside her - even if just for this one moment. To pretend that not all has changed.

 

His hands find her thighs and he hoists her up easily, drawing a surprised yelp from her. It's lost in their kiss and quickly replaced by a deep moan when her legs hook around his hips and the length of him presses against her perfectly.

 

_Fuck,_ he hisses, parting the kiss and pressing his forehead to hers instead, eyes not leaving hers as they stay completely still.

 

_You sure you can hold me up?_ she asks with a crooked smile, and he scoffs before she can even finish the sentence. _You're not twenty anymore._

 

She's holding onto his shoulders, tilting her hips just enough to feel him sliding against her, and it feels too good.

 

_Ya didn't know me when I was twenty,_ Daryl rasps low and with a familiar but faint edge of grief to his words. He moves then, the tip of him nudging her entrance, and still he waits. _I was skinny as a fuckin' stick._

 

Shuddering in his arms, Carol nudges her nose against his, tightening the grasp of her thighs around his hips. _So was I,_ she breathes, her breath hitching when he pushes in, just an inch or two that stretches her in a familiar yet always overwhelming way. _Maybe we would've been fine._

 

Daryl's lips turn into a faint smile at that, one that barely tugs at the corners of his mouth. But it fills her heart with warmth for the first time in weeks. _Yeah, we would've been,_ he confirms, pushing in all the way before she can say anything else. A choked cry escapes her lips instead.

 

They move slowly, measured strokes and careful tilts of her hips, and Carol knows he really is trying hard not to slip on the wet tiles and send them both tumbling down. She's too distracted by the stretch of him inside of her, by his soft pants against her cheek, by the trembling of his arms where he holds her to waste a thought on that, though. Clings to him instead and moans softly when his pelvis grinds against hers in a delicious way that sends sparks through her veins.

 

This won't last long and she knows it. Can't remember if they ever went this long without sex before, and Daryl is nearly there already, his pace picking up and his lips seeking hers for a frantic kiss.

 

It doesn't matter right now that she won't come like this, not this quickly. That neither of them can chance sneaking a hand between their slick bodies to get her there, not without risking the loss of balance. But she's fine like this, melting into Daryl’s kiss and clenching around him on purpose each time he drives himself into her, encouraging him.

 

All she needs in this moment is to feel him close, safe, a taste of how things used to be. They don't know if this place is really safe, if they'll live to see the next day. Even after the horrors of her first marriage, it wasn't until recently that she truly understood how fragile the world and their lives really are.

 

_Daryl,_ she whispers, one hand curling into his hair, nails scraping gently down his skull. He comes with a muffled grunt against the crook of her neck, his hips stuttering as she crosses her ankles and pulls him deeper into her. Finally, he stops moving, still buried to the hilt, and she cherishes the warmth of his release and the dampness of his breath against her sensitive skin.

 

In this moment, she feels like she used to. When their biggest worries were what to make for dinner on Sunday and that Daryl couldn't make Sophia's school play because he was doing overtime to pay for her new doll house. She wants to go back to that time, and here in Daryl’s arms is the only place she can still imagine it.


	22. twenty two

She can't decide what her favorite part of being with Daryl is.

 

_before:_

 

When he blushes and his touch is hesitant. Calloused hands mapping out the pale expanses of her skin like a brush on an empty canvas. Caresses each dip, each freckle, every scar left behind by darker times with his curious hands and warm lips. When he curls around her and kisses her breathless, when her name sounds like a question.

 

Clothes peeling away and revealing more and more skin, pale and tan, clean and covered in dust, soft and hard with muscle.

 

When he asks for permission, when he explores her. The raise of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, the quivering plane of her stomach. When he kisses the core of her, trailing it with his tongue before dipping inside, tasting her, humming against her until she bows off the bed and comes apart at the seams.

 

When he lets her touch him, his sharp jawline, his strong neck, his chest where his heart stutters, the length of his legs and the map of scars on his back. When she has to encourage herself to curl her hands around his length, suddenly feeling shy. When he bucks into her, so responsive, gasping her name. When he's so desperate to _be_ with her.

 

_during:_

 

When he brushes his lips against hers in a languid and slow kiss before pushing into her. Always slowly, giving her time to adjust. Stuttering her name on an exhale that dampens her flushed cheeks. Curling his fingers around her as he moves inside her.

 

The warm stretch of him filling her, his naked body sliding against her own and she always arches into him, presses flush against him until their hearts beat the same rhythm. Panting breaths and hoarse murmurs, everything in the world fading away until only he remains, kissing her neck and collarbone, fingers curling into her short hair, moving inside of her at whatever pace she desires. Sometimes slow, sometimes barely a shift as he rocks his hips into hers. Other times faster, more demanding, twisting against him to get him to reach deeper.

 

When he sneaks a hand between them, beneath her, up to where they are joined until every muscle in her body quivers with her release. When he comes apart with a silent cry, grasping her to him and burying himself deep inside, spilling his warmth into her as she grinds against him. Keeping him there.

 

_after:_

 

When they are both sated, when his weight presses her into the mattress or when she collapses on top of him. Holding his hand in hers. Breathing into each others damp skin. Tired to the bone. Hearts beating a slowly calming rhythm. Hands roaming without intention or purpose over legs and arms, across back and stomach. Lingering her and there. Lips whispering.

 

When everything is calm and sure. Safe. Feeling him soften inside of her. The warmth of both their releases. Aftershock fizzling in her veins like tiny fireworks. Muscles still quivering. Skin too sensitive when he slips from her and she sighs at the loss, but he never stays away long. Tucks her into his side, and she fits into place there perfectly. Curling her arms around his chest, resting a cheek in the crook of his neck. Breathing him in. Feathering a kiss there.

 

When he whispers _love ya_ into her frizzy hair. When his hand rests against the small of her back, keeping her close. Her legs tangling with his and her eyes watering when she says it back. Meaning it. Understanding it deep in her heart and soul. When sleeps claims them both, nightmares only rare and far between these days. When dreams finally feel gracious again.

 

No, she can't decide. But when she wakes at night to a random, small sound and feels the warm cocoon of Daryl wrapped around her – back to chest and legs entangled, his breath warm against the back of her neck – she realizes that it doesn't matter. She doesn't have to decide. Smiles instead when the arm curled around her belly tightens slightly, reassuringly, and warm lips press a kiss to the base of her neck. _Go back ta sleep,_ he whispers hoarsely, voice riddled with sleep. _'s all right._

 

And it is, for the first time in her life.


	23. twenty three

She knows he's avoiding her. Looking up at the concrete ceiling of their cell ( _her_ cell, really, but he has spent more nights here recently than in his own), she listens to the quiet ticking of the clock on the other wall. His watch shift ended well over half an hour ago. Usually, it takes him only a handful of minutes to get back to her (and even if he makes a stop at the washroom it doesn't take him this long).

 

She should have known this wasn't just going to go smoothly. He's probably more embarrassed about walking in on her than she was – than she still is. Just the thought of it has her cheeks flushing a bright red that gleams on her, and she sighs, turning onto her side. Facing the wall, she waits for sleep to claim her.

 

It had been Maggie's idea, and she'd been quick to talk Michonne and Sasha into going on the required run with her. Masked as a run for batteries and underwear, they'd returned with one more box – a box they had unpacked with at least a dozen excited women gathered around it in the library that night.

 

The bright pink vibrator she chose is now tucked away under the mattress – right where she kept it the past two weeks. She only used it twice. The night she picked it from the box, finding a shuddering release in the washroom, and earlier. When nearly everyone was enjoying the mild summer day outside. And that's when Daryl decided to barge into her cell. _Their_ cell, she reminds herself.

 

She'd tried to cover herself with a sheet but he'd already seen everything, freezing in the door for a moment before apologizing under his breath and rushing out of the cell.

 

(deep down, she's afraid she scared him away)

 

The door of the cell creaks slightly when it's pushed open, stirring Carol from that hazy place between awake and asleep. She stays still, though, listening as Daryl kicks off his boots, unbuckles his belt and takes off his shirt and pants. The mattress dips slightly when he sits down, and a gust of cool air hits her overheated skin when he slips under the blanket, his warmth instantly radiating.

 

_'m sorry,_ he mumbles quietly, and she can't fight the slight smile. Of course he knew she wasn't asleep yet.

 

_It's okay,_ she reassures him, turning onto her other side to face him. As her eyes slowly adjust to the dark, she takes in his silhouette, laying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling like she had done before. _You couldn't have known._ She reaches a hand across the short distance, curling it around his fingers. _I wasn't exactly very careful._

 

(she'd been overeager, every inch of her skin tingling with need, hitting her completely out of the blue)

 

Daryl clears his throat, fingers twitching against hers. There's something he wants to say, but he can't quite get the words out yet. Encouraging him, she shuffles a little closer, resting her forehead against his upper arm.

 

_You-eh... You do that a lot?_ he stutters, making a point of staring up at the concrete.

 

She bites back a smile. _Do what?_ It's probably mean to tease him like this right now, but he did walk in on her with her legs spread and her fingers pushing the vibrator into herself, skin flushed and one had curled around her breast – so he might as well endure this.

 

Much to her surprise, he turns his head to face her, throat bopping as he swallows. _Touching yourself._

 

There's an edge to his voice, a hoarse tremor that has the muscles in her lower body clenching. _Not often,_ she whispers, too distracted by Daryl's gaze to explain all the technicalities of having barely any privacy. _Do you?_ she asks boldly, feeling his fingers tightening their previously loose grip around her hand, his thumb beginning to trace a distracting circle on her wrist.

 

He takes a minute to reply, his breath warm and damp against her face. _Used to sometimes. Before we- ya know._ She smiles at that, but it doesn't last long, quickly replaced by a longing stirred from imagining Daryl like that, his hand curled around his length, stroking...

 

_Show me?_

 

His eyes widen at her words and she is fully prepared to be denied her wish, looking up at him through her lashes hopefully. Eventually, though, he nods – just ever so slightly – and she feels a shiver run down her spine in anticipation.

 

She remains still when his hand slips from hers, when he peels the blanket off himself,exposing his slim thighs, pale in the darkness. She's not all that surprised to the see the outline of an erection beginning to form against his briefs. Her eyes are glued to his hand when he smooths it down his abdomen and to the waistband, fingers reaching inside.

 

A slight grunt escapes him at the first touch, still hidden from her eyes, but she can just about make out the way he's got his hand curled around the base, not doing anything else just yet.

 

_Can ya-_ he murmurs, looking at her with a shy expression. _Can ya show me, too?_

 

A rush of excitement and nervousness runs through her veins, but she doesn't allow even a hint of fear. Instead, she quickly kicks off the blanket and shimmies out of her underwear, opting to keep her shirt on. Her hand, though, quickly runs beneath the worn fabric, taking it up with her until she reaches a bare breast and cups it, trailing her thumb over her nipple and feeling it harden. The sigh that escapes her is amplified in the silence.

 

_Fuck,_ Daryl rasps, and then he is shoving his briefs over his hips enough for his hardness to spring free, and Carol watches transfixed as he begins to move his hand up and down. Slowly, but quicker than she usually starts out.

 

Already feeling the dampness between her thighs, Carol runs her hand down her stomach, not missing the way Daryl's eyes follow her hand. She trails a finger down the length of her, gathering the wetness and circling herself, back arching slightly, and she struggles now to keep her eyes open. But Daryl's breath is ragged when he nuzzles his head into the side of her face, his fist picking up pace, stroking himself harder and rougher than she has ever dared to.

 

_Jesus, Carol,_ he grunts when she slips a finger into herself, propping her foot against the mattress and letting the other leg fall open, her knee resting against his. Her other hand finds her breast again, squeezing and pinching her nipple, Daryl’s name trailing from her lips. His rhythm stutters briefly, and then his lips are on her neck, mouthing at the skin, sucking slightly.

 

_Ah- Daryl,_ she gasps, abandoning her breast to rest her hand on Daryl’s thigh instead, fingers inching to the sensitive skin on the inside, and he groans, hips tilting up as he works himself towards his release. Her own fingers are eager now, two slipping inside of her, stroking against her walls before she draws them out and circles her spot, rubbing more furiously now. She's _so_ close.

 

_You still got that thing?_ Daryl suddenly breathes into her neck, the vibrations humming through her entire body, nearly enough to send her soaring. It takes her a few seconds to process what he said, and then her eyes widen, head turning to face him. He looks almost sheepish, hair stuck on his face, his hand tugging lazily on his length now. When she nods, hope seems to flicker across his features.

 

_Can ya- can ya show me how?_

 

She can feel herself clenching around her fingers at the sound of his request, knowing that he was only brave enough to ask for this in the heat of the moment. She nods, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth before abandoning his thigh and reaching around the edge of the bed. It takes a few fumbling attempts to grab a hold of the vibrator because she is unwilling to use her other hand, unwilling to end the slow circles she is drawing over her slick skin.

 

Holding it up between them as Daryl mouths kisses on her shoulder, she hesitates to push the button and turn it on. An idea simmers in her mind and she gathers the courage to voice it, arching her back as she fights the first flutters of her release.

 

_You do it?_ she whispers then, pleading, voice failing her. Daryl looks up from her shoulder, his hand freezing around his length, but he recovers quickly. Nodding, he reaches for the vibrator, looking a little unsure what to do about it.

 

_Don't turn it on until it's inside,_ she explains, slowing down the caresses of her own hand. _It's quieter then._ He nods mechanically, and it's almost amusing the way he eyes the thing, like he is trying to figure out a math problem. _Just..._ Her cheeks flush a bright red, and she suddenly wishes they were doing their normal thing, his hands on her body and his length deep inside of her, breathless kisses and shy touches. _Rub it there,_ she explains vaguely, tilting her hips upwards.

 

Maybe he is just as shy about this as she is (probably even more so), and so he moves quickly, like ripping off a band air. Sets the tip of the vibrator where she just circled her fingers. It's cold for a moment, and she gasps, and then he begins to move it up and down her sensitive skin, slicking it with her arousal. From the corner of her eye, she can see his other hand continuing to stroke himself, a steady rhythm, holding back.

 

_Put it inside,_ she moans impatiently when he nudges her entrance, hesitating there. _Please, Daryl._

 

A groan rumbles deep in his chest but he does as she asked, slowly pushing the vibrator into her. It slides inside easily and her back bows of the bed, both hands clutching the sheets.

 

_Keep touching yourself,_ he murmurs into her neck, kissing the point just below her ear, and then he switches it on, the vibrations rippling through her core. She gasps his name once more, her hand quickly reaching down to rub at herself, feeling the stretch and glide as Daryl begins to thrust the vibrator in and out of her at a quick pace that matches the strokes of his fist around his length.

 

She was so close before, and now all her muscles are coiling tight, and she's bucking her hips up in time with Daryl’s thrust. _Daryl, I'm- oh!_ Her back bows off the bed when her release hits, her muscles tightening around the vibrator as Daryl continues to thrust it into her, her fingers stiff as she feels wave after wave washing over her.

 

_Shit,_ Daryl grunts, and from her peripheral she can see his hand speeding up to the point of pain, and then his hand that holds the vibrator stills, a deep groan rumbling in his chest and he's coming all over his stomach, burying his head into the crook of her neck as his ragged breaths dampen her skin. Only heightening the flutters of aftershocks that make her quiver.

 

Eventually, he uncurls his hand from his length and Carol pushes against his wrist until he pulls the vibrator from her, switching it off and dropping it unceremoniously onto the bed by their feet.

 

_Damn,_ he huffs, and she can't hold in the light chuckle, stretching her legs and relishing in the tingles still coarsing through her body from head to toe. Turning her head, she smiles at Daryl, mesmerized by the coyness still clinging stubbornly to his features.

 

She breaches the distance quickly, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss, languid and lazy after they're both sated.

 

This isn't at all how she thought the night would end, but complaining is the last thing on her mind.


	24. twenty four

A sigh of relief slips from her lips when her head finally, _finally_ sinks into the soft pillow. Her hair is still damp, auburn curls growing frizzy around her shoulders, but she doesn't care. She'll pull it back into a ponytail tomorrow morning – there won't be time for much else anyway.

 

Fatigue is settling in the marrow of her bones, the soles of her feet aching from chasing the kids through the mall all day, her arms tired from carrying too many bags, her eyes burning from the dry air inside the stores.

 

The sheets are clean and cool when she runs her bare feet over them, slipping under the thick blanket and comforter, not even bothering to kick the throw pillows off the bed. They'll land on the floor on their own time for her to collect them in the morning. Turning onto her side and burrowing into the bed, Carol allows her eyes to close. The room is only dimly lit by the glow of light coming in from the bathroom.

 

Already beginning to drift off, she listens to the water running in the sink and Daryl brushing his teeth, a muffled curse when he knocks something over – the soap dispenser, she guesses – and her lips curl into a smile despite her reluctance to move even an inch of her body.

 

 _Did you break it this time?_ she asks when she hears him stepping into the bedroom, darkness taking over as he huffs out an annoyed breath. The mattress dips under his weight when he crawls into bed with her, shuffling around for a moment until she can feel the warmth of him right behind her. His chest presses into her back a second later.

 

 _Nah,_ he replies, voice low, ad she shudders when his warm breath tickles the damp skin of her neck. _Wish I had, though. 's still ugly as shit._

 

She laughs softly at that, gently nudging her elbow back until it connects with his ribs. _It isn't,_ she defends her choice (white ceramic with small flowers adorning it like marzipan on a wedding cake). She always knew he'd hate it, but she figured he would just have to handle it when she paid too much money for it the other week.

 

(considering he isn't usually very clumsy, she is suspicious about his suddenly lack of grace while brushing his teeth. or shaving. or washing his hands.)

 

Daryl only hums, the vibrations sending a jolt down her spine, and she fights her body's response to it, keeps her eyes firmly shut and tries to force sleep. He has to be just as tired, just as aching for a few hours of rest.

 

His lips pressing against the back of her neck, however, tell a different tale.

 

 _Daryl,_ she sighs, cursing her body for already craning her neck to give him better access. _I'm tired._ She nearly laughs at how horribly cliche that sounds, but she's too distracted by his warm breath and the damp kisses he trails along her neck all the way to the side of her throat, nudging his nose against the spot just underneath her earlobe. A shiver runs through her body, goosebumps erupting all over her freshly scrubbed skin.

 

 _Been a week,_ he murmurs hoarsely, one warm hand coming up to rest against the curve of her waist. His touch seeps through the flannel of her pajamas and the skin below tingles, her body arching into his against her better judgment. They need to sleep, but being this close to him, feeling his kisses pressing against her pulse point, it all feels too good. His next words send rush of warmth to her lower belly. _Miss ya._

 

God, she's missed him, too. Missed feeling his bare skin against hers, craved kisses that are more than a quick peck before work or stolen in front of the kids, missed falling asleep with their limbs entangled and the taste of him on her lips.

 

 _I know,_ she breathes, eyes fluttering open now. The room is glowing with the faint light of the first Christmas decorations that illuminate the street outside, the curtains only half drawn. It's warm and hazy like this, and she is slowly but surely losing her fight.

 

 _Ya too tired?_ Daryl asks, the murmur tickling against her shoulder, and his hand inches down to her stomach, splayed fingers crazing the waistband of her pants. Her hips tilt a little at the faint promise his touch holds, but the genuine concern in his question has her heart stuttering in her chest.

 

With a smile, she edges back into his body. _Not that tired._ He accepts her words instantly, his hand moving down to cup her center through her pants. The warmth and pressure of his hand feels like heaven, sparks rushing through her veins at the first contact and a low moan tearing from her throat. His finger trails right down the seam of her pants, catching her just right, and she clamps her legs together to keep him there, hips already rocking into his touch.

 

 _Missed you, too,_ she confesses then, reaching behind herself to curl her hand into his hair, fingers briefly trailing along the stubble on his cheeks on their way there. Even with little leverage and Daryl’s hand distracting her, she manages to turn her head enough to seek a kiss. He leans in without hesitation, his lips melting against hers, warm but chapped from the cold, his tongue eagerly tracing her bottom lip. She opens up with a whimper, curling her fingers tighter into his hair when his own apply pressure at just the right spot.

 

 _Daryl, please,_ she moans as she pulls away from the kiss, her neck aching from the odd angle, and her hand is quick to move down his side until she grabs his boxers. She can feel him, hard and throbbing, against her tailbone, his hips stuttering against hers a little when she pushes back against him.

 

 _Just got started,_ he says quietly, sucking in a sharp breath when she reaches into his boxers and curls her hand around him. The warmth of him feels familiar in her palm, and still a rush of excitement runs through her, her inner muscles clenching in anticipation.

 

 _It's late,_ she breathes, still preoccupied in the back of her head what a busy day tomorrow will be. She needs him, and she needs him now. _I need you._ The words carry on a moan when the pad of his finger presses against her entrance through her clothes, teasing her. She gives him a few strokes in return, all the way from the base to the tip where she draws her thumb over the moisture gathering there. _It's okay._

 

 _Shit,_ Daryl grunts then, and he is pulling his hand away and tugging her own away from his arousal. The mattress dips when he shuffles behind her, fabric rustling, and she's too impatient to wait for him to undress her. She quickly pushes her pants off her hips, kicking them down to her knees, and that's as far as she gets before Daryl curls a hand around her hip and presses his length against her.

 

 _Ya really ready?_ he asks, always too concerned, and she's huffing in frustration. Tilting her hips back and lifting a leg just enough to rest her foot on his shin, he slips right between her legs, the tip of him nudging her entrance. Slick and warm and all the confirmation he needs when he muffles a groan in the crook of her neck. _Fuck._

 

He pushes into her slowly, slower than she needs him to. But the stretch of him, heavy and warm, is knocking the air out of her lungs and she claws at his arm. Inch by inch he moves until he can go no further and his abdomen is pressing against her ass, his calloused hand splaying over her stomach.

 

A smile curls her lips at that for a brief second before he nudges his hips forward, rocking into her, and all rational thought is wiped from her brain.

 

They have to be quiet if they want to make this last, but Carol struggles not to make a sound, presses her face flush into her pillow in a weak attempt to stifle her moans. Daryl isn't doing much better, breathing raggedly against her shoulder as he moves inside of her slowly. A measured pace that means every inch of him is dragging against her walls, the coil low in her belly tightening steadily.

 

It's not the quick release she had in mind, and she feels overwhelmed by the tenderness now, an indulgence they rarely allow themselves lately. His lips mouth a kiss and sweet nothings against her neck, his hand slipping under her shirt to briefly reach up to a breast, cupping the weight and brushing a thumb over her nipple.

 

She sucks in a violent breath but before she can say or do anything he is already retreating his hand down to where they are joined, where he pushes himself into her in lazy strokes. His fingers find her spot easily, rubbing maddening circles over slippery flesh.

 

She can feel her release building quickly, her body too deprived to resit for too long (the last time she'd come had been rushed, forced on her part with a furious hand as Daryl made love to her in the shower, the clock on the wall tick-tick-ticking). Judging by the way Daryl's thrusts are beginning to pick up speed and force, she is pretty sure he is right there with her.

 

But in their earlier rush they'd neglected their clothes, her pants barely down to her knees and Daryl’s boxers only shoved over his hips, and it leaves them with little room to maneuver.

 

 _Carol,_ he groans, a mixture of arousal and frustration as he pushes himself deeper into her. Her own release is right there, so close she can almost touch it, but it evades her every time she thinks it's about to wash over her. So, driven by pure need, she tugs at Daryl's arm and allows her own body to tilt forward. He moves fluidly as she lies down flat on the bed, kicking off her pants until they disappear somewhere in the sheets. The mattress dips when Daryl's forearms press into it by her sides, the weight of his body resting on hers a second later.

 

Once, it would have scared her, make her feel trapped. But now she cherishes the weight of him, the expanse of his chest against her back, his thighs against the backs of hers. She feels safe. Still, he is always careful not to put too much weight on her, hovering above her no matter how exhausting it gets.

 

A brief kiss to the base of her skull and he pushes back inside of her, slowly at first. But that only lasts a second before he pulls back, thrusting back in without hesitation now. All haziness gone now as they both work towards their release.

 

He is quick to shove his hand back beneath her body, fingers briefly getting caught on her shirt, but then they find their goal, her skin so slick that he struggles for a moment to do it right. But then her eyes squeeze shut as white heat bursts through her veins, her body clenching down on him, hands curling into the sheets. The cry that tears from her throat is swallowed by the pillow, her release pulsing through her, and behind her Daryl groans, his breath warm on her shoulder.

 

There's despair to his movements now and she is surprised he has held himself back through her release, aftershocks still coursing through her, her muscles contracting around him each time he pushes himself back into her. Pounds into her now, reaching out to grasp her hand.

 

She relishes in the stretch of him, the fullness she feels as he moves, and when he finally crashes over the edge, she sighs contently. It's muted by a deep groan, and he thrusts into her a handful more times, deeper and deeper each time as she feels the warmth of his release.

 

Eventually, he stills, buried to the hilt and pulsing inside of her, the grip of his hand around hers easing. He allows a little more of his weight to press her into the mattress, giving his arms some rest, and she turns her head far enough for him to be able to see the smile that curls her lips.

 

 _Love ya,_ he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth and smoothing a stray curl from her temple. She hums happily in return, eyes fluttering closed as he feathers kisses over her flushed cheek, the moment so full of contentment that she doesn't quite know how to handle it. They both still struggle with it, accepting happiness and joy without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

Life is good now. And maybe... Well, maybe there's still room to make it even better. Suddenly nearly bursting with excitement, nervousness and cautious hesitation, Carol opens her eyes again, meeting Daryl’s gaze.

 

 _I love you, too,_ she replies a little late, but he smiles all the same. Pressing one last kiss to her jaw, he rolls off her, the loss of him instantly leaving her cold. Unwilling to let that feeling last, Carol quickly turns back to him, watching him shuffle a little as he pulls his boxers back up under the blanket.

 

They both share a soft laugh, and she doesn't bother hunting down her own pants before she curls into his side. Already waiting, his arm instantly curls around her back, fingers drawing gentle circles on her arm. She rests her cheek on his chest, listening to the still slightly hurried beating of his heart, her hand splaying over his stomach.

 

It's a moment of comfort and quiet, just the two of them in a warm cocoon. It's rare and all the more precious because of that.

 

So, in the end, Carol isn't surprised that he unknowingly tickled her secret from her. That she feels so loved and warm and happy in this moment that she can't hold it in anymore. It glows in her like a small flame and she bites her bottom lip nervously before speaking with a hoarse and sleepy voice, just barely above a whisper. Her heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

 

_Daryl?_

 

He stirs a little under her, likely already starting to fall asleep. But he hums anyway, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She wonders briefly if he can feel her heartbeat picking up. If he does, he doesn't say anything, just continues with the gentle caresses along her arm and the even rise and fall of his chest that his breathing provides.

 

_I need to tell you something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last ficlet is set in the same universe as my fic **illuminate the heart**. So, if you have read that and its sequel **a curious speck** and want to know what exactly Carol's little secret is, I have a little Christmas gift in store for you. Head [over here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8999515) to find out and enjoy!
> 
> Puh. I can't believe this series is really over. It was definitely a struggle to write all these little ficlets, but you guys were all so enthusiastic and supportive and made this month a real joy for me. Thank you all so much for the support and have a wonderful last week of the year.


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